m:M/S^'  C*   VA -k  W  ^""*  C^ 

OSAICS 


•''-•%!  &3W 

ALFRED'SIMSONI^ 


GIFT  OF 
A.   P.   Morrison 


B 


GfotDen 


The  Old  House  and  Garden. 


$ptogopl)ical,  amoral,  and 
Horticultural 


'•  Ye  bright  mosaics  that  with  storied  beauty 
The  floors  of  Nature  '6  temple  tessellate . "... 
Horace  Smith. 


Copyright,  1903,  by 
D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY 


GIFT    OF 


Published 


•  •  .•;  .••••:  :    ;  . 

#&•.:•  ?  >•  •    i  •. 


PREFACE 


S  I  have  no  literary  ability  or  prac- 
tise, and  know  very  little  about 
gardening,  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
apologize  for  presenting  this  crude 
production  to  an  intelligent  public.  At  all  events, 
I  should  like  to  put  forth  my  thoughts  and 
reflections  with  a  demeanor  of  becoming  mod- 
esty. 

I  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of  expressing 
my  intimate  thoughts  and  feelings,  or  of  laying 
bare  my  soul,  and  if  I  did,  it  would  not  be  fit  for 
the  public  to  gaze  upon.  But  occasionally,  like 
others,  I  express  certain  desultory  opinions.  I 
am  sometimes  honest  and  more  often  try  to  be, 
as  far  as  the  exigencies  of  circumstances  allow. 
On  this  occasion,  at  any  rate,  I  have  no  interest 
or  wish  to  sail  under  false  colors,  and  were  I  to 
do  so  some  of  my  readers  would  be  sure  to  find 
me  out. 

I  have  no  confidant  but  "  Nature,  the  deep- 
v 

JVJ95627 


bosomed,"  and  none  but  she,  therefore,  will  be 
able  to  discern  in  what  I  say  more  than  the  one 
or  two  slight  phases  of  my  character  which  are 
exhibited.  But  there  are  many  others,  mostly 
worse. 

This  little  book  is  not  a  spontaneous  produc- 
tion, but  is  the  result  of  labor  and  tribulation, 
both  physical  and  mental.  Some  of  the  views 
I  have  expressed  are  unorthodox,  and  I  am  also 
aware  of  the  fact  that  they  are  not  original,  but 
are  mostly  borrowed  from  or  suggested  by  the 
thoughts  of  others. 

Having  thus  introduced  the  author,  I  must  say 
a  word  about  the  garden.  By  most  competent 
judges  it  would  be  pronounced  a  very  ordinary, 
little,  somewhat  ill-kept  garden.  It  has  the  ad- 
vantage, however,  of  being  old  and  of  contain- 
ing a  few  nice  old  trees  and  shrubs,  while  in  form 
and  subdivision  it  is  pleasantly  irregular.  If  I 
have  created  the  impression  that  it  is  a  greater 
and  grander  domain  than  it  really  is,  I  merely 
wish  to  state  that  such  has  not  been  my  in- 
tention. 

December,  1902. 

v£ 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.    Beauties  of  My  Garden 3 

II.    Thoughts  That  Come 13 

III.  Women  and  Gardens 23 

IV.  Religion 33 

V.    Garden  Temptations 45 

VI.  Garden  Pets,  and  Others        .        .        .        .55 

VII.    Tropical  Trees 67 

VIII.  The  Child  and  the  Garden    ....    77 

IX.    Training  the  Garden 89 

X.    The  Coming  of  Spring xoi 

XI.     Blossoms in 

XII.    Suggestions 123 

XIII.  Birds  and  Philosophy 135 

XIV.  Roses  and  Philology 147 

XV.    Midsummer  Roses 157 

XVI.    Gardens  and  Life 167 

XVII.  Some  Old-time  Favorites       .        .        .        .177 

XVIII.    Autumnal  Forecast 189 

XIX.     Falling  Leaves 199 

XX.    The  Garden  in  Winter 209 


Vll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Facing 
page 

The  Old  House  and  Garden  .        .        .       Frontispiece 
Under  One  of  these  Trees  Sat  the  Buddha       .        .     15 
This  Porch  was  of  Great  Beauty        .        .        .        .56 
The  Most  Beautiful  Tree  I  Have  Ever  Seen    .        .    70 
Her  Beloved  White  Pigeons  Settled  About  Her      .    81 

It    Served    as    a    Cradle    for    so    many    Attractive 
Objects i6z 


IX 


Day  stars !  that  ope  your  frownless  eyes  to  twinkle 

From  rainbow  galaxies  of  earth's  creation 

And  dewdrops  on  her  lonely  altars  sprinkle  as  a  libation. 


CHAPTER  ;i  V>    V 

BEAUTIES    OF -MY  i  " 


HE  stars  were  still   shining  when  I 
went  out  of  the  door,  as  they  gen- 
erally are  when  I  emerge  from  the 
house    into    the    garden    on    clear 
mornings  in  winter. 

All  was  still  in  the  fresh,  crisp  air,  but  the 
sparrows  seemed  to  resent  the  intrusion  of  an 
early  riser  and  fluttered  noisily  out  of  the  ivy 
and  yews  as  I  passed  close  to  their  roosting 
place. 

The  ivy  on  the  back  of  the  house,  like  all  else 
about  that  edifice,  had  such  a  hirsute  and  ragged 
appearance  that  it  had  to  be  cut  to  the  bone  a 
year  ago,  and  it  has  not  yet  recovered  from  its 
close  shearing  and  from  a  subsequent  interfer- 
ence of  bricklayers  and  repairers.  The  sparrows 
found  their  cover  so  attenuated  that  they  took 
to  the  yews  for  a  time;  but  with  the  gradual 

3 


recovery  of  growth  in  the  ivy,  they  are  begin- 
ning to  return  to  their  old  home. 

I  lovcQ  £md  encourage  all  birds  except  sparrows, 
who  haivb-'to  tie:  Suppressed  so  that  they  may 
np't  esf abl jsh,-  tfrer  hionopcly  they  hold  in  so  many 
places 'where 'they  settle,  to  the  exclusion  of  more 
attractive  species.  The  garden  abounds  with 
thrushes,  blackbirds,  starlings,  robins,  linnets, 
chaffinches,  bullfinches,  tits,  and  wrens,  and  in 
the  proper  season  the  air  is  vibrant  with  the 
song  of  nightingales  and  the  soft  amorous  coo- 
ing of  doves.  In  winter  the  blackbirds  and 
thrushes  are  the  most  sociable,  and  the  blue  tits 
revel  in  a  beech  close  to  the  southeast  corner 
of  the  house,  its  branches  being  hung  like  a 
Christmas-tree  with  tallow  candles  and  half 
coconuts  *  for  their  special  delectation.  The 
robins,  of  course,  become  very  tame  and  friendly 
from  the  interested  motives  which,  alas!  only 
too  often  lie  at  the  root  of  friendly  advances.  I 
do  not,  like  some,  however,  apostrophize  these 
dainty  little  feathered  friends  as  "  sneaks  "  be- 


*  I  spell  this  word  without  an  "a"  as  it  has  nothing  to  do  with 
Theobroma  cacao." 


•Beauties  of 


cause  they  approach  me  more  frequently  and 
nearer  when  they  are  hungry  and  want  food.  It 
is  human  nature,  and  evidently  bird  nature  too. 

What  a  lot  of  human  nature  there  is  in  man! 
By  which  I  mean  man  in  his  generic  symboliza- 
tion,  "  embracing  woman,"  and  how  often  is  the 
fact  ignored.  It  (human  nature)  explains  and  ac- 
counts for  much  that  is  misunderstood,  and  legis- 
lators, political,  social,  and  domestic,  should  al- 
ways keep  it  uppermost  in  their  minds,  as  they 
themselves  also  do  not  fail  to  demonstrate  its  in- 
fluence. Man  is  human,  and  above  all  a  human 
animal,  not  rational,  as  we  like  to  describe  him, 
but  "  rationis  capax  "  ;  that  is  to  say,  capable  of 
acting  on  reason  in  favorable  circumstances.  His 
sentiment  is  at  best  but  partially  controlled  and 
modified  by  reason,  and  where  sentiment  is 
strong,  reason  is  swept  away  and  the  faculty  of  its 
exercise  temporarily  ceases  to  exist. 

The  robins,  moreover,  in  spite  of  this  inter- 
polation on  man,  gave  substantial  evidence  of 
disinterested  sociability  by  building  their  nests 
in  summer,  when  they  asked  and  expected  noth- 
ing, close  to  the  house  where  I  almost  brushed 

5 


jftogaicg 


against  them  many  times  a  day.  One  little  nest 
was  so  low  in  the  short  brushwood  on  the  stem 
of  an  old  yew  that  even  Timmy,  the  rough-haired 
terrier,  sometimes  peeped  in  to  see  if  the  baby 
robins  were  agreeing  in  their  little  nest.  For 
birds  in  their  little  nests  do  not  always  agree 
— proverbs  notwithstanding. 

No  one  can  be  really  said  to  love  his  gar- 
den who  does  not  love  it  in  winter.  A  fine- 
weather  love  is  like  a  fine-weather  friend,  the 
prostitution  of  a  sacred  name:  the  friend  is  no 
friend  and  the  love  is  no  love  at  all. 

Winter  in  a  garden  is  the  season  of  promise, 
of  hope,  and  of  anxious  expectation,  and  who 
can  say  that  the  objects  of  our  hopes  and  anxi- 
eties are  not  as  interesting  and  engaging  to  our 
faculties  as  their  fulfilment;  that  is  to  say,  when 
they  cease  any  longer  to  be  hopes  and  anxieties. 
Realization  of  hopes  may  give,  and  sometimes 
does  give,  serener  pleasure,  but  it  seldom  pre- 
occupies the  intellect  so  completely  or  so  long 
as  the  hopes  themselves.  And  then  there  are 
the  failures,  or  realizations  of  the  anxieties,  to 
take  into  the  account. 

6 


of  H    (0attien 


It  is  a  long  time  to  wait  through  all  the  win- 
ter months  to  realize  the  hopes  and  anxieties 
which  have  been  planted  in  the  soil  in  the  au- 
tumn. If  one's  solicitude  is  equal  in  volume  upon 
each  separate  object  within  its  purview,  as  I 
suppose  it  must  more  or  less  be,  to  what  dimen- 
sions must  not  the  aggregate  attain  when  the 
units  are  impartially  dealt  out  in  thousands? 

In  the  beds  under  the  windows  on  the  south 
and  west  of  the  house  hundreds  of  tulips  and 
hyacinths  have  been  inserted.  The  tulips  are 
all  mixed,  as  they  look  much  brighter  and  gayer 
than  when  sorted  in  colors.  In  the  herbaceous 
borders,  most  of  them  backed  or  centered  by 
shrubs,  chiefly  evergreen,  are  irises,  Spanish, 
German,  English,  Japanese,  and  reticulata,  anem- 
ones of  various  descriptions,  daffodils,  narcissi, 
ixias,  foxgloves,  lilies,  campanulas,  montbretias, 
ranunculi,  delphiniums,  and  many  other  plants 
and  bulbs.  The  borders  round  the  lawns  are 
all  lined  with  mixed  crocuses,  and  quantities  of 
these,  with  snowflakes,  daffodils,  snowdrops,  and 
scillas,  have  been  put  in  the  grass  wherever 
there  are  untrodden  corners,  and  around  trees. 

7 


In  the  paddock  I  have  planted  quantities  of  the 
same  bulbs  in  the  grass  together  with  grape  hya- 
cinths, fritillarias,  chionodoxas,  dog's-tooth  vio- 
lets, and  other  things,  all  pell-mell;  and  under 
a  long  line  of  hedge,  anemones  have  been  in- 
serted between  the  stems  of  the  hawthorn.  An- 
other and  very  ragged  hedge  on  one  side  of  the 
paddock  has  been  "  mended  "  with  sweetbriers, 
crimson  ramblers,  and  honeysuckle.  Some  cop- 
per beech,  crab-apple,  mountain  ash,  double  pink 
cherry,  with  rhododendrons  and  other  shrubs, 
have  been  filled  into  gaps  in  the  shrubberies. 
The  garden  is  an  old  one,  and  has  been  much 
neglected  for  years  past. 

I  have  also  planted  out  a  lot  of  roses,  and  am 
determined  to  make  Marechal  Niel  flourish  in 
the  open.  I  am  the  more  emboldened  to  this 
as  when  I  took  possession  of  the  house,  the  pre- 
vious tenant,  who  had  allowed  a  beautiful  old 
garden  to  run  to  seed  and  weed  in  every  part 
of  it,  had  planted  a  rose  of  this  variety  in  mis- 
erable soil  against  the  wall  of  a  coach-house  in 
the  back-yard,  facing  another  building,  where 
it  got  next  to  no  sun  and  was  exposed  to  the 

8 


iseauttesi  of  jft? 


coldest  north  winds  of  winter,  funneled  through 
the  space  it  occupied.  It  had  been  there  for 
some  years  and  —  lived! 

I  have  planted  one  by  a  small  porch  on  the 
south  side  of  the  house,  where  it  should  do  well, 
and  another  in  an  exposed  position  on  a  higher 
elevation.  I  have  sought  to  temper  the  winter 
wind  by  means  of  a  piece  of  matting. 

The  "gentle  reader"  may  thus  gather  that 
the  aggregate  of  my  hopes  and  anxieties  is  prob- 
ably greater  and  will  be  of  longer  duration  than 
the  pleasure  of  realization  of  the  former  —  minus 
the  failures. 

It  occurs  to  me  that  this  chapter  had  "  Day- 
Stars  "  for  its  text,  and  I  have  said  nothing  about 
them  beyond  a  cursory  allusion  to  the  stars  of 
the  firmament  in  the  early  morning  in  winter. 
The  most  beautiful  day-stars  in  the  shape  of 
flowers  I  have  ever  seen  may  be  found  in  Ipom&a 
rubro-ccerulea,  but  it  can  only  be  seen  in  its  glory 
in  the  tropics.  In  one  of  the  tropical  gardens 
I  have  had  there  was  a  trellis,  some  120  to  150 
feet  long  and  8  feet  high,  which  for  nearly  two 
months  on  end  each  year  used  to  be  covered  in 

9 


a  dense  mass  with  these  magnificent  and  heav- 
enly flowers.  No  leaves  were  visible,  and  every 
morning  a  fresh  relay  of  flowers  opened  to  the 
dawn,  those  of  the  previous  day  hiding  behind 
them  and  falling  off  with  the  reddish  tint  which 
I  suppose  gave  rise  to  the  compound  Latin  name 
of  the  species. 

This  is  a  true  day-star,  only  the  coloring  is 
exactly  reversed  from  that  of  the  night  stars. 
The  golden  light  of  day  robbed  from  the  latter 
brings  forth  on  the  ipomoea  countless  constella- 
tions of  the  purest,  densest  heavenly  blue,  the 
exquisite  beauty  of  which  in  a  large  mass  must 
be  imagined,  for  at  all  events  I  have  not  words 
wherewith  to  paint  its  glories.  I  can  only  say 
it  compelled  the  admiration  of  all  who  have  ever 
seen  it,  be  their  soul  never  so  dead  or  dull  to  the 
beauties  of  nature. 


10 


Ein  Fichtenbaum  steht  einsam 
Im  Norden  anf  kahler  Hoh'. 
Ihn  schlafert ;   mit  weisser  Decke 
Umhiillen  ihn  Eis  und  Schnee. 

Er  traumt  von  einer  Palme, 
Die  fern  im  Morgenland 
Eisam  und  schweigend  trauert 
Anf  brennender  Felsenwand. 

Heine. 

A  fir-tree  stands  there  lonely 
Where  northern  blizzards  blow. 

He  slumbers:  a  silver  mantle 
Enshrouds  him  in  ice  and  snow. 

His  dreams  are  of  a  palm-tree 

Who  far  in  torrid  zone 
In  silence  droops  and  sorrows 

On  sweltering  crag  alone. 


II 


CHAPTER   II 
THOUGHTS    THAT    COME 

OMETIMES  I  think  the  garden  is 
even  more  beautiful  in  its  winter 
garb  than  in  its  gala  dress  of  sum- 
mer. I  know  I  have  thought  so 
more  than  once  when  every  leaf  and  branch  was 
clothed  with  a  pure  garment  of  snow,  so  light  as 
not  to  hide  the  grace  of  form.  But  nothing,  it 
seems  to  me,  could  ever  transcend  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  vegetation  when  on  one  occasion  a 
sharp  frost  followed  a  very  wet  fog.  The  mist 
driven  by  the  wind  had  imparted  a  coating  of 
fresh  moisture,  evenly  distributed,  over  and  under 
every  leaf  and  twig  inside  the  trees  and  shrubs 
as  well  as  outside.  The  light  coating  then  froze 
and  left  every  innermost  twig  resplendent  with 
delicate  white  crystals.  It  was  quite  different 
from  an  ordinary  frost  or  a  fall  of  snow,  beau- 
tiful as  are  frequently  the  effects  of  these.  But 
13 


the  glory  of  the  scene  reached  its  climax  when 
the  sun  came  out  and  the  thicket  scintillated 
from  the  center  as  well  as  from  its  external  sur- 
face. 

Its  dazzling  splendor,  however,  could  not  last, 
and  the  glistening  and  enchanted  spectacle  grad- 
ually melted  away  before  the  greater  and  more 
glorious  life-giving  presence  of  "  God's  lidless 
Eye."  This  gorgeous  scene,  however,  has  always 
dwelt  in  my  memory,  and  figures  as  the  most 
glowing  aspect  a  garden  can  assume  at  any  sea- 
son of  the  year. 

But,  even  without  such  adventitious  aids  as 
snow  or  frost,  the  garden  is  engaging  in  its 
winter  attire.  Beauty  unadorned  is  adorned  the 
most ;  but  then  it  must  be  beauty.  I  do  not  wish 
to  go  to  extremes  and  worship  the  bare  straight 
wands  of  a  scraggy  unclothed  bush  whose  naked- 
ness is  only  tolerable  because  of  the  alluring 
toilettes  it  dons  at  other  seasons.  What,  how- 
ever, can  be  more  fascinating  than  many  a  nude 
tree,  the  sturdy  strength  of  the  anatomy  of  the 
oak  and  the  lithe  grace  of  the  beech  and  the 
birch?  I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  two  other  splen- 

14 


Under  One  of  these  Trees  Sat  the  Buddha. 


Come 


did  examples,  and  there  are  many  more.  One  is 
a  magnificent  elm  in  the  corner  of  the  lawn, 
whose  symmetry  and  grace  of  structure  I  never 
cease  to  admire  when  it  is  leafless,  with  the 
massive  strength  of  its  stem  and  primary 
branches  and  the  delicate  and  feathery  tracery 
in  the  arrangement  of  its  countless  little  twigs 
spread  out  against  the  sky.  Another  beautiful 
leafless  tree  in  its  vast  expansion  toward  the 
light  is  the  peepul-tree  of  India,  the  Ficus  religi- 
osa.  I  am  fortunately  able  to  reproduce  a  photo- 
graph of  one  of  these  beautiful  trees  taken  some 
years  ago  by  a  friend,  whose  enlargement  of  it 
made  a  most  attractive  picture.  It  was  under 
one  of  these  trees  that  nearly  2,500  years  ago  is 
said  to  have  sat,  wrestling  with  the  demons  of 
temptation,  Gautama,  the  Buddha,  the  man  whose 
teaching  and  beneficent  influence  has  swayed  a 
larger  number  of  the  human  race  than  any  one 
either  before  or  after  him.  Even  to  this  day  his 
followers  probably  represent  a  greater  propor- 
tion of  the  population  of  the  earth  than  any  other 
religion,  and,  including  the  followers  of  Brahman- 
ism,  whose  religion  owes  some  of  its  best  phases 

15 


to  the  same  source,  the  influence  of  his  example 
and  discipline  may  be  said  to  sway  more  than 
half  the  entire  population  of  the  globe. 

It  always  seems  to  me  that  the  only  reason 
why  the  wisdom  of  Gautama  has  not  been  ac- 
cepted and  practised  more  widely  and  more 
strictly  is  simply  that  his  philosophy  is  too  high 
for  poor  weak  human  nature,  I  will  not  say  to 
grasp,  but  to  hold  permanently.  We  can  all 
grasp  the  truth  that  desire  can  not  be  controlled 
and  quenched  by  its  satisfaction,  but  only  by  its 
limitation;  but  who  can  hold  to  this  truth  and 
go  on  practising  fresh  limitations  continually  till 
the  Nirvana  of  perfect  peace,  the  cessation  of 
desire,  is  attained? 

Great  trees  which  rise  and  spread  their  shape- 
ly arms  toward  the  sky,  whether  in  leaf  and 
blossom  or  unclothed,  always  recall  to  my  mem- 
ory the  beautiful  poem  of  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  Under  the  Violets : 

At  last  the  little  rootlets  of  the  trees 
Shall  find  the  prison  where  she  lies, 

And  bear  the  buried  dust  they  seize 
In  leaves  and  blossoms  to  the  skies. 
So  may  the  soul  that  warmed  it  rise! 

16 


Come 


How  much  better  to  have  one's  body  clasped 
by  the  tender  little  rootlets  and  one's  soul  raised 
aloft,  its  essence  fragrantly  diffused  toward 
heaven,  than  to  be  put  into  a  cold  vault  in  a 
leaden  box,  or  cremated! 

Then,  think  in  winter  of  all  the  bulbs  and  roots 
sleeping  in  their  wholesome  and  fresh  earthen 
bed.  One  sees  how  comfortable  they  are  when 
one  happens,  as  occurs  now  and  then  inadvert- 
ently, to  disturb  them  in  their  slumber.  How 
cozy  and  healthy  the  little  bulbs  look  with  their 
fresh  pale  green  shoots  emerging  from  their  shell 
ready  to  break  through  the  soil  toward  the 
light,  to  expand  their  treasured  beauties  in  the 
open  air  when  the  cold  of  winter  has  passed 
away. 

We  are  in  the  middle  of  December,  and  as  the 
weather  is  cold  the  roses  have  had  their  winter 
capes  thrown  over  their  shoulders.  I  have  plant- 
ed a  number  of  new  ones,  and  these,  like  many 
others  which  are  in  positions  exposed  to  the 
northeast  wind,  will  no  doubt  be  more  comforta- 
ble and  respond  to  the  care  that  is  taken  of  them 
better  if  the  cold  blast  is  partially  warded  from 
2  17 


them.  The  cape  consists  of  a  flat  bunch  of  yew 
tied  over  the  neck  of  the  plant. 

The  sweet  peas,  too,  which  were  sown  in  Oc- 
tober and  are  shooting  above  ground,  have  now 
also  been  protected.  Last  year  the  October  sow- 
ing answered  very  well  with  the  result  that  my 
first  crop  of  these  fragrant  and  beautiful  flowers 
came  very  early. 

How  many  things  have  failed,  though?  It  is 
true  we  learn  through  our  mistakes;  but  how 
tediously  and  how  slowly!  It  usually  takes  us 
a  lifetime  to  know  that  we  have  sipped  but  a 
teaspoonful  from  the  inexhaustible  ocean  of 
knowledge  and  that  we  have  not  even  digested 
that  small  dose  properly. 

To  give  a  homely  personal  instance,  my  head, 
like  that,  I  am  given  to  understand,  of  most 
married  men,  is  of  an  irregular  configuration,  and 
hats  shaped  for  it  invariably  relapse,  a  short  time 
after  their  purchase,  into  the  usual  oval  (by 
which  I  mean  egg-shaped)  ellipse  and  compress 
my  more  highly  developed  bumps,  which  I  must 
assume  a  phrenological  investigation  would  show 
to  be  good  ones.  It  took  me  over  thirty  years 

18 


Come 


to  hit  upon  the  plan  of  having  a  wooden  form 
constructed  to  match  the  plane  of  the  orbit  of 
that  portion  of  my  skull  which  is  designed  by 
nature,  besides  growing  hair,  for  carrying  a  hat 
rim.  Both  these  objects  it  had  previously  not 
fulfilled  to  my  satisfaction.  Now  I  transfer  the 
pressure,  discomfort,  and  headaches  to  the  block 
of  wood,  and  when  this  has  extracted  them  com- 
pletely from  the  hat,  I  wear  it. 

Could  anything  be  more  simple,  and  why 
should  I  have  taken  thirty  years  to  find  it 
out. 

My  cranial  protuberances  of  benevolence,  sen- 
sibility, amiability,  etc.,  as  I  presume  them  to 
be  in  the  absence  of  expert  phrenological  opinion 
to  the  contrary,  are  thus  no  longer  constricted 
as  they  were  before,  and  can  expand  more 
freely. 

I  never  knew  the  cause  of  some  of  my  phys- 
ical discomforts  and  moral  deficiencies  till  I  made 
this  discovery,  which  must  be  sound  and  not 
mere  theory,  as  it  is  evidenced  by  the  practical 
proof  that  I  feel  less  evilly  disposed  toward 
my  neighbor  when  I  have  a  comfortable  hat  on 

19 


than  with  one  which  does  not  allow  my  bumps 
full  play. 

I  offer  my  readers  this  recipe  gratis  for  their 
boots  where  it  may  be  of  similar  soothing 
service. 


20 


Steht  ein  Baum  im  schonen  Garten 
Und  ein  Apfel  hangt  daran 
Und  es  ringelt  sich  am  Aste 
Eine  Schlange,  und  ich  kann 
Von  den  siissen  Schlangenaugen 
Nimmer  wenden  meinen  Blick, 
Und  Das  zischelt  so  verheissend, 
Und  Das  lockt  wie  holdes  Gluck  ! 

Heine. 

A  tree  stands  in  a  beauteous  garden 

And  an  apple  hangs  thereon, 
And  there  resting  in  the  branches 

Twines  a  serpent,  and  upon 
Those  sweet  magic  serpent  glances 

Must  I  rivet  fast  my  gaze : 
Something  whispers  so  entrancing, 

Lures  me  in  a  blissful  haze. 


21 


CHAPTER   III 
WOMEN    AND    GARDENS 

HARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER,  in 
his  charming  little  book,  My  Sum- 
mer in  a  Garden,  which  I  always, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  look  upon  as  the 
pioneer  among  the  more  recent  light  garden  lit- 
erature, perhaps  because  it  was  the  first  book  of 
its  kind  I  read,  now  a  good  many  years  ago,  says : 
"  Woman  always  made  a  muss  in  a  garden."  It 
is  quite  clear  he  can  not  have  read  Elizabeth, 
Miss  Jekyll,  or  Mrs.  Earle,  or  he  could  never 
have  made  such  a  statement  without  naming  his 
exceptions.  I  am  sure  no  one  can  say  those 
ladies  made  a  "  muss,"  whatever  that  may  be, 
in  a  garden. 

I  suppose  Mr.  Warner  refers  to  our  mother 

Eve,  who  undoubtedly  flirted  with  the  serpent, 

while  he  was  probably  handsome  and  walking 

erect  before  his  curse;  but  after  all,  Eve's  con- 

23 


duct  seems  to  me  quite  natural,  as  the  serpent 
was  the  first  who  spoke  to  her,  and  possibly  even 
whispered  in  her  ear!  He  seems  to  have  ap- 
peared on  the  scene  before  Ithuriel  and  Zephon, 
who  might  otherwise  have  been  preferred  with 
vastly  different  consequences  to  the  human  race. 
Eve's  curiosity,  a  quality  which  woman  was 
formerly  supposed  to  possess  in  a  strong  de- 
gree, was  no  doubt  aroused,  and  she  wanted  to 
know  what  a  chat  with  an  erect  serpent  would 
be  like.  He  proved,  it  seems  clear,  an  adept, 
since  he  opened  the  conversation,  not  like  the 
clever  Scotchman  with  a  repartee,  but  on  the 
subject  of  the  forbidden.  This  is  always  a  dan- 
gerous subject,  and  for  that  reason  an  attractive 
one.  Eve  fell  into  temptation,  and  for  my  own 
part  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  discern  what 
temptation  was  made  for  unless  it  was  to  be 
fallen  into.  I  am  aware  the  view  exists  that 
it  is  placed  in  our  way  in  order  to  test  and 
strengthen  our  character.  As  a  test  of  character, 
however,  it  seems  to  me  to  fail.  To  avoid  temp- 
tation and  give  it  the  go-by  is  pure  evidence  of 
weakness  and  nothing  else,  and  the  practise  of 
24 


anti 


ineptitude  can  not  possibly  be  fortifying.  Our 
mental  and  physical  faculties  were  made  for  use, 
and,  the  great  scheme  of  evolution  shows  us,  for 
development  also — not  for  abuse,  though,  be  it 
clearly  understood.  But  to  discuss  in  this  chap- 
ter the  immense  advantage  to  be  gained  by  the 
exercise  of  moderation  would  lead  me  too  far 
away.  I  may  come  back  to  it  later  on  if  some- 
thing else  in  the  course  of  these  scattered 
thoughts  suggests  the  subject  to  me  again. 

What  I  have  never  understood  is  why  we  are 
always  taught  that  Adam  and  Eve  were  turned 
out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden  because  they  ate  of 
the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and 
evil,  and  were  thus  guilty  of  disobedience..  I 
find  every  one  I  have  questioned  has  been  so 
taught,  and  that  there  has  been  nothing  unusual 
in  my  instruction;  but  in  vain  have  I  sought 
a  satisfactory  reply  to  my  demand  for  authority. 
The  ground  was  cursed,  and  our  disobedient 
first  parents  were  cursed  for  having  eaten  of  the 
fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil; 
but  that  was  not  the  direct  ground  of  their  ban- 
ishment from  the  garden,  the  reason  very  clearly 
25 


and  explicitly  stated  in  the  third  chapter  of 
Genesis  being  quite  a  different  one. 

The  society  Eve  of  the  present  day,  I  take  it, 
does  not  make  a  "  muss  "  in  the  garden,  what- 
ever she  may  do  elsewhere.  But  I  wish  I  knew 
what  a  "  muss  "  is,  so  that  I  might  find  out  where 
she  does  make  it  and  ascertain  what  it  is  like. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  a  good  thing  to  do,  and 
is  virtuous  and  commendable,  and  for  aught  I 
know,  Mr.  Warner  may  have  been  paying  wom- 
anhood a  compliment  in  saying  they  "made  a 
muss."  When  he  observed  that  "nature  was 
awful  smart,"  he  said  he  meant  to  be  compli- 
mentary; so,  perhaps,  his  intentions  were  similar 
in  this  case.  But,  however  that  may  be,  I  think 
it  will  be  safer  for  me  at  once  to  repudiate  all 
responsibility  for  possibly  misinterpreting  a  word 
I  do  not  understand  or  know  the  meaning  of.  * 

All  the  same,  I  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  the  woman  who  does  not  "  make  a  muss  in 
a  garden  "  is  a  product  of  quite  recent  times. 

One  Society  Eve  I  know  looks  upon  the  devel- 
opment for  the  table  of  two  fat  mushrooms  under 
an  ash-tree  as  of  much  more  absorbing  interest 
26 


and 


than  the  blooming  of  Senateur  Vaisse,  L'ldeal 
or  Marie  van  Houtte ;  and  another,  when  once  on 
an  occasion  I  pointed  out  admiringly  some  pans 
tessellated  with  a  gorgeous  variety  of  gay  portu- 
lacas,  told  me  she  considered  them  "  footly  little 
things,"  an  adjective  I  must  presume  to  be  com- 
mendatory, as  I  have  not  succeeded  in  discover- 
ing in  the  authorities  any  contrary  signification 
to  it. 

Among  the  various  Clematis  I  have  planted  is 
one  called  the  "  Duchess  of  Albany."  It  is  one  of 
the  hybrids  of  Coccvnea,  the  wild  Mexican  species. 
Its  growth  on  the  west  side  of  the  house  has  been 
all  that  could  be  desired,  for  in  half  the  time  it  has 
entirely  outstripped  a  vigorous  plant  of  Jackmanni 
which  climbs  alongside  it.  It  flowered  fairly  pro- 
fusely and  continued  in  blossom  till  well  on  in  the 
autumn,  but  its  blooms  took  more  after  its  parent 
Coccinea  than  Jackmanni,  being  an  erect  half -closed 
bell,  something  in  the  shape  of  a  campanula,  of  a 
striated,  rather  insipid,  pink  color.  I  was  look- 
ing forward  with  the  most  pleasurable  anticipa- 
tion and  excitement  to  the  efflorescence  of  my 
pink  Clematis;  but  now  I  wonder  when  I  think 

27 


of  it  as  compared  with  the  beautiful  large  Jack- 
manni  varieties,  rich  in  color,  and  bold  in  design, 
whether  I  should  be  sufficiently  complimentary 
if  I  apostrophized  it  "  a  footly  little  thing." 

In  this  chapter  I  seem  to  have  been  talking 
almost  more  about  woman  than  about  the  gar- 
den ;  but  after  all  woman  is  indissolubly  mixed  up 
with  the  garden,  which  she  usually  directs  as  she 
does  most  other  things,  and  in  the  end  we  must 
acknowledge  that  she  is  either  the  rose  or  the  vior 
let  of  society  if  not  of  the  garden.  A  great  and 
clever  man  once  summed  up  to  me  in  two  words 
the  culmination  of  his  experience  as  to  the  treat- 
ment of  woman :  "  Thwart  her,"  he  said.  The 
prescription  may  or  may  not  be  a  good  and  cha- 
stening one.  It  would  in  any  case  have  to  be 
administered  with  great  tact  and  much  gilding. 
I  do  not,  however,  wish  to  discuss  it,  as  it  is  not 
in  my  line,  though  I  must  plead  guilty  to  think- 
ing sometimes  with  another  great  man  that 
"  woman  is  an  unreasoning  being  who  pokes  the 
fire  from  the  top." 

Metaphorically  this  is  quite  true,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  woman  is  swayed  much  more  by  senti- 

28 


anD 


ment  than  man  is.  Her  sympathies  preclude  her 
from  a  due  sense  of  justice ;  but  she  is  not  alone 
in  the  common  human  weakness  of  sympathy 
for  the  criminal,  if  he  is  only  bad  enough,  instead 
of  for  the  victims  he  has  wronged. 

Let  us,  however,  be  thankful  that  she  is  as  she 
is,  and  try  to  make  the  best  of  ourselves  and  our 
gardens. 

It  is  foolish  of  me  to  have  allowed  myself  to 
make  any  remarks  about  so  complicated  a  subject 
as  woman ;  but  what  is  said  is  said  and  I  propose 
in  this  chronicle  to  record  whatever  comes  into 
my  head,  as  I  write,  on  any  subject. 


29 


The  truth-seeker  is  the  only  God-seeker. 

"S.1 

Shall  any  gazer  see  with  mortal  eyes, 
Or  any  searcher  know  by  mortal  mind, 
Veil  after  veil  will  lift— but  there  must  be 
Veil  upon  veil  behind. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


CHAPTER  IV 
RELIGION 

LTHOUGH  I  love  my  garden  in  win- 
ter as  well  as  in  summer,  from  the 
fact  that  there  is  so  much  less  day- 
light at  this  season,  I  am,  of  course, 
able  to  spend  less  time  in  it.  The  longer  even- 
ings indoors  give  more  opportunity  for  reading 
than  does  the  summer,  when  one  begrudges 
every  moment  spent  in  the  house.  A  short  while 
ago  I  found  time  to  read  The  Soul  of  a  People, 
by  Fielding,  and  I  have  now  read  his  sequel  to  it, 
entitled  The  Hearts  of  Men. 

These  two  books  are  the  most  interesting  ones 
I  have  read  for  many  a  long  day  and  I  commend 
their  perusal  to  reflective  persons;  but  I  must 
make  some  remarks  on  them.  The  latter  book 
opens  with  a  number  of  definitions  of  religion 
by  different  writers  and  toward  the  end  the  au- 
thor gives  three  definitions  of  his  own.  Of  the 
others  only  one  seems  to  me  at  all  satisfactory. 
3  33 


It  is  by  Max  Miiller,  who  says :  "  Religion  is  the 
perception  of  the  infinite,"  which  is  no  doubt  cor- 
rect as  far  as  it  goes,  only — does  it  go  far  enough, 
and  is  it  complete  enough  for  a  full  definition? 
The  subject  is  of  such  momentous  importance 
and  of  such  intense  interest  to  the  entire  human 
race  that  I  am  sure  a  more  or  less  comprehensive 
definition  is  needed.  I  am  not  a  voracious  reader 
of  theology  and  may  thus  not  be  aware  of  many 
excellent  definitions  which  have  been  propound- 
ed. What  I  say,  therefore,  is  set  down  in  all 
deference. 

Fielding's  first  definition  is :  "  Religion  is  the 
recognition  and  cultivation  of  our  highest  emo- 
tions, of  our  more  beautiful  instincts,  of  all  that 
we  know  is  best  in  us."  Now  this  seems  to  me 
quite  wrong.  Religion  may  involve  all  these 
things ;  but  it  can  not  be  said  that  it  is  itself  the 
recognition  and  cultivation  of  what  is  best  in  us, 
and  what  is  best  must  always  be  to  some  extent 
a  matter  of  opinion  and  convention.  Even  the 
first  of  my  propositions  can  only  apply  to  some 
of  us  and  to  some  religions.  Our  author  express- 
ly states  that  he  deals  with  religion  generally, 

34 


Religion 


true  or  false,  and  seeks  a  common  ground  for  all, 
a  condition  surely  not  met  by  his  definition.  It 
would  not  be  difficult,  but  perhaps  is  unnecessary 
here,  to  quote  examples  or  cases  to  prove  this. 

His  second  definition  is :  "  Religion  is  the  sat- 
isfaction of  some  of  the  wants  of  the  souls  of 
men."  This  is  childish.  You  might  as  well  de- 
fine the  practise  of  any  virtue,  art,  any  intellectual 
enjoyment,  the  love  of  gain,  or  even  food  or  drink, 
in  the  same  words.  An  effect  is  again  mistaken 
for  a  state  of  being,  and  a  causa  causans  is  classed 
as  its  consequence. 

The  third  definition  runs :  "  Religion  is  the 
music  of  the  infinite  echoed  in  the  hearts  of  men." 
This,  of  course,  is  metaphorical,  and  poetical  if 
you  like.  It  is  no  doubt  a  good  "  imaginative 
idealization,"  but  not  a  clear  definition  which  can 
enable  us  better  to  understand  with  our  reason- 
ing faculties  what  religion  really  is.  It  is,  how- 
ever, the  only  one  of  the  three  definitions,  albeit 
vague  and  parabolical,  which  comes  near  the 
truth.  It  would  have  been  still  nearer,  it  appears 
to  me,  had  it  been  expressed  as :  "  The  pulsations 
of  the  human  heart  vibrating  into  infinity." 

35 


The  Hearts  of  Men  opens  with  the  follow- 
ing quotation  from  Anon :  "  The  difficulty  of 
framing  a  correct  definition  of  religion  is  very 
great.  Such  a  definition  should  apply  to  nothing 
but  religion,  and  should  differentiate  religion 
from  anything  else — as,  for  example,  from  imagi- 
native idealization,  art,  morality,  philosophy.  It 
should  apply  to  everything  which  is  naturally 
and  commonly  called  religion;  to  religion  as  a 
subjective  spiritual  state,  and  to  all  religions,  high 
or  low,  true  or  false,  which  have  obtained  ob- 
jective historical  realization." 

Do  Fielding's  definitions  comply  with  these  re- 
quirements, the  soundness  of  which  can  not  be 
questioned  ?  I  think  not.  His  best  definition,  and 
that  of  Max  Muller  also,  must,  I  fear,  be  classed 
as  "  imaginative  idealizations." 

Before  going  further  I  wish  to  postulate  two 
things :  First,  the  imperfection  of  our  senses,  and, 
secondly,  that  all  religions,  so-called  true  or  false, 
whether  based  on  pure  ascetic  philosophy  or  on 
the  crudest  superstition  and  ignorance,  are  vir- 
tually an  attempt  to  solve  the  connection  of  hu- 
manity with  the  hereafter  and  the  unknown.  The 

36 


unknowable  future,  after  life  is  extinct,  I  think 
it  will  be  acknowledged  is  the  essence  of  religion. 

As  regards  our  senses,  which  we  must  analyze 
in  order  that  we  may  see  clearly  what  our  means 
of  understanding  a  difficult  problem  are,  we  must 
remember  that  they  consist  really  of  only  one 
sense,  and  that  a  very  material  one.  It  is  the 
sense  of  touch  or  contact,  in  progressive  degrees 
of  refinement. 

First—Touch. 

Second — Taste,  or  the  appreciation  and  distinc- 
tion of  finer  particles. 

Third — Smell,  or  the  appreciation  of  still  finer 
particles. 

Fourth — Hearing,  or  the  appreciation  of  the 
impact  of  sound-waves. 

Fifth — Sight,  or  the  appreciation  of  the  impact 
of  the  much  finer  vibrations  of  light. 

We  have  no  other  means  or  apparatus  for  re- 
ceiving or  collecting  impressions,  and  this  ap- 
paratus consists  of  a  series  of  instruments,  name- 
ly, "  feelers,"  of  a  very  imperfect  nature,  however 
marvelous  we  may  consider  them  to  be.  They 
are  connected  with  and  constitute  the  scouts  and 

37 


sentinels  of  another  wonderful  instrument,  the 
brain,  where  every  impression  they  convey  is 
stored  for  conscious  or  unconscious  use.  The 
assimilation  of  all  these  impressions  of  material 
facts  results  in  the  exercise  of  what  we  call  the 
reasoning  faculty.  This  faculty  may  elaborate  and 
build  up  theories  and  abstract  ideas ;  but  these  all 
emanate  originally  from  the  same  source,  material 
contact  of  the  sense  of  touch  with  material  ob- 
jects. In  these  circumstances  can  we  wonder  if 
we  fail  to  grasp  such  a  subject  as  infinity,  which 
does  not  manifest  itself  either  as  matter  or  force 
and  which  it  is  quite  beyond  the  power  of  our 
instruments  to  gage.  Until  our  powers  are 
further  developed  and  refined  we  must  regard 
such  things  as  "behind  the  veil,"  and  wait  in 
patience  for  further  light  and  more  extended 
means  of  understanding.  In  the  meantime,  hu- 
manity, whose  first  instinct  is  self-preservation, 
fears  extinction  in  a  vague,  untutored  way. 
There  is,  however,  as  far  as  we  know,  no  reason 
to  apprehend  extinction  either  of  matter  or  force ; 
but  with  regard  to  the  individuality  of  living  or- 
ganisms, simple  or  complex,  the  case  is  different. 

38 


Eeligton 


There  is  no  evidence  to  give  us  any  ground  to  suppose 
that  complex  individuality  is  anything  but  an  epheme- 
ral condition.  Throughout  the  great  scheme  of 
evolution  we  see  of  what  small  importance  is  the 
individual.  He  is  nothing,  and  may  be,  and  is, 
continually  sacrificed  in  the  interest  of  the  prog- 
ress of  the  community.  Individual  to  race,  race 
to  species,  species  to  genus,  genus  perhaps  to 
families  and  orders  and  so  on. 

This  being  the  case,  what  justification  have  we 
for  exaggerating  the  importance  of  human  indi- 
viduality and  arrogating  to  it  a  position  so  much 
higher  than  the  evidence  appreciable  to  our 
senses  warrants  ?  For  my  own  part  I  am  content 
to  accept  a  much  humbler  position  in  the  vast 
design  of  the  universe  and  to  submissively  ac- 
knowledge that  if  the  whole  of  the  human  race 
were  swept  away  to-morrow  the  boundless  plan 
would  not  be  thereby  in  any  way  materially  af- 
fected. 

With  these  remarks  I  proceed  to  give  my  defi- 
nitions of  religion,  in  the  construction  of  which 
I  have  endeavored  to  follow  the  broad  conditions 
laid  down  for  such  a  purpose.  I  give  several  defi- 

39 


d&arfcen 


nitions,  but,  though  differing  in  words,  they  are 
virtually  all  of  the  same  purport: 

1.  The  struggle  of  man  to  account  for  the  un- 
known. 

2.  The  endeavor  of  a  finite  mind  to  place  itself 
in  touch  with  infinity. 

3.  The  effort  of  humanity  to  assign  to  itself 
a  permanent  place  in  the  scheme  of  the  universe. 

4.  The   craving   of    the   reasoning   faculty    to 
construct  an  identification  of  humanity  with  what 
follows  the  dissolution  of  its  individuality  in  an 
infinity  which  is  beyond  its  comprehension. 

5.  The  conscious  or   unconscious   striving   of 
the  human  intellect  to  explain  the  eternity  which 
succeeds  the  cessation  of  conscious  individuality 
and  its  attempt  to  establish  personal  and  eternal 
relationship  with  infinity. 

Religion  disturbs  the  mind  comparatively  little 
in  regard  to  the  origin  of  all  things  (of  being, 
of  matter,  or  of  force)  or  to  the  infinity  which 
precedes  individual  conscious  existence. 

Savage,  in  his  absorbing  book,  The  Religion 
of  Evolution,  quotes  from  an  unknown  author, 
"  S  " :  "  Here  we  are,  finite  minds  in  the  midst 
40 


of  infinity.  And,  for  the  finite  that  is  moving 
toward  infinity,  there  is  nowhere  a  place  to  an- 
chor, but  only  the  privilege  and  the  opportunity 
of  endless  exploration." 


Ich  weiss  nicht  in  wen  die  Rose  verliebt ; 

Ich  aber  lieb'  euch  all'  ; 
Rose,  Schmetterling,  Sonnenstrahl, 

Abendstern  und  Nachtigall ! 

Heine. 

I  know  not  on  whom  the  rose  is  so  sweet ; 

But  my  love  shall  not  fail 
To  rose  and  butterfly,  sunbeam  bright, 

Starlight  and  nightingale. 


43 


CHAPTER  V 

GARDEN  TEMPTATIONS 

NE  of  the  pleasantest  occupations  of 
the— shall  I  call  him  "  hortophil,"  or 
would  that  be  too  horrible?  I  mean 
one  who  loves  his  garden,  and  for 
ordinary  use  I  want  one  word  for  it  and  "gar- 
dener "  does  not  meet  the  case.  Writing  is  a 
work  of  great  trouble  to  me,  as  my  hand  refuses 
to  guide  a  pen  fluently  and  I  am  therefore  fre- 
quently impelled  to  seek  short-cut  expressions. 
What  I  was  going  to  say  was  that  one  of  the 
pleasantest  occupations  of  the  garden  lover  in 
the  long  winter  evenings  is  the  contemplation  and 
study  of  the  nurseryman's  catalogues.  Some  of 
these  annual  illustrated  price-lists  issued  by  our 
English  seedsmen  are  publications  of  extraordi- 
nary beauty  and  artistic  finish,  and  in  them  we 
feast  our  eyes  on  the  most  perfectly  grown  speci- 
mens of  every  attractive  flower  which  the  heart 
45 


<Batf>en 


of  man  can  desire.  One's  longing  to  acquire  spec- 
imens of  each  lovely  plant  described  and  depicted 
in  each  successive  catalogue  that  arrives  becomes 
so  pressing  that  one  can  not  shake  it  off.  One's 
spirit  cries  for  the  beloved  objects  by  day  and 
dreams  of  them  by  night: 

"  Quien  pasa  las  noches  sonando  con  tigo  y 
pasa  los  dias  llorando  por  ti." 

Temptation,  thy  name  is  Nurseryman's  Cata- 
logue !  And  if  ever  a  temptation  was  made  to  be 
fallen  into  it  is  this  one.  Whoever  takes  up  one  of 
these  irresistible,  illustrated  catalogues  is  fore- 
doomed to  buy,  whether  he  can  afford  it  or  not. 
Such  a  consideration  is  of  no  consequence.  I  am 
naturally  strong  myself,  in  the  absence  of  tempta- 
tion ;  and  being  strong  I  do  not  give  it  the  go-by 
when  it  presents  itself  before  me.  The  more 
alluring  its  garb  the  more  determined  do  I  become 
not  to  be  weak  and  evade  it.  I  close  with  it  and  if 
it  is  stronger  than  I  am,  it  engulfs  me.  Human 
nature  can  do  no  more. 

I  also  often  practise  petty  economies,  which, 
though  reputed  virtuous,  is  a  much  more  expen- 
sive luxury  than  buying  plants  one  has  no  room 
46 


Cemptationg 


for  and  can  not  afford.  The  saving  of  sixpence 
on  three  or  four  occasions  successively  I  find 
always  results  in  a  moral  elation  which  nothing 
less  than  the  needless  outlay  of  a  sovereign  can 
assuage. 

The  deduction  I  make  from  this  and  from  other 
kindred  experiences  is  that  there  is  no  virtue  in 
being  always  virtuous.  The  virtue  becomes  so 
thick  that  one  finds  himself  in  the  position  of  one 
who  from  always  walking  barefooted  contracts 
protecting  callosities  on  his  feet.  One  must  wear 
shoes  that  are  taken  off  periodically  to  keep  one's 
sole  tender. 

Predestination  to  succumb  to  the  temptation 
of  Seedsman's  catalogue  recalls  Omar  Khayyam 
to  my  mind : 

Oh  Thou,  who  didst  with  pitfall  and  with  gin 
Beset  the  path  I  was  to  wander  in, 

Thou  wilt  not  with  predestination  too 
Enmesh,  and  then  account  my  fall  a  sin! 

Oh  Thou,  who  man  of  baser  clay  didst  make 
And  who  with  Eden  didst  devise  the  snake, 
For  all  the  ill  wherewith  the  face  of  man 
Is  blackened — man's  forgiveness  give  and  take. 

47 


I  can  forgive  some  of  my  plants  for  their  un- 
intended lapses  and  breaches  of  convention.  Two 
or  three  anemones  last  year  each  had  a  couple  of 
flowers  on  them  from  November  all  through  the 
winter  and  this  year  they  are  doing  likewise.  A 
polyanthus  and  a  hepatic  a  have  also  been  in  flower 
since  November,  and  as  I  write  we  are  in  Christ- 
mas week.  How  cheering  it  is  to  see  even  an 
isolated  flower  in  the  open  at  this  season  of  the 
year  in  England! 

I  have  put  out  for  early  flowering  a  bed,  a 
small  one,  of  hepaticas  all  by  themselves,  another 
good-sized  one  of  polyanthus,  and  a  third  of  for- 
get-me-nots, which  should,  in  their  pure,  sweet 
blue,  look  quite  charming  in  a  mass.  The  hepat- 
icas, too,  are  such  pretty  welcome  little  flowerets, 
blooming  as.  they  do  in  frost  and  snow  when 
there  is  so  little  bright  coloring  otherwise  to  be 
seen.  All  three  plants  named,  moreover,  are  so 
truly  serviceable,  and  may  be  described  when  the 
spring  bedding-out  season  comes  in  like  the 
empty  bottles  which  are  called  Marines,  "  They 
have  done  their  duty  and  are  ready  to  do  it  again." 
They  have  only  to  be  laid  away  in  the  ground 


in  some  corner  till  the  following  autumn,  when 
they  are  ready  again  to  perform  their  duties 
afresh  and  cheer  us  with  their  bright  looks. 

When  we  are  accustomed  to  the  usual 
profusions  of  daily  life  even  an  isolated  joy  like  a 
single  flower  in  winter  is  a  real  pleasure.  It  is 
profusion  that  kills  all  the  enjoyment  of  life,  the 
secret  of  which  is  moderation.  If  one  could 
only  always  be  on  one's  guard  and  stop  short  of 
satiety!  When  once  the  demon  of  satiety  takes 
possession  true  enjoyment  is  gone.  Our  motto 
should  be  "  always  to  get  up  from  the  table  of 
pleasure  hungry."  To  satiate  an  appetite  is  not 
only  to  destroy  it  for  the  time  being,  but  on  each 
occasion  to  blunt  its  edge  for  future  use,  till  after 
a  short  time  its  keenness  becomes  increasingly 
and  irretrievably  dulled.  We  know  this  and 
realize  its  truth ;  but  how  many  of  us,  in  the  mad 
race  for  saturation  of  enjoyment,  can  make  it  a 
rule  to  be  strictly  adhered  to? 

My  petunias  had  produced  in  the  autumn  a  num- 
ber of  self-sown  seedlings  which  looked  fresh  and 
strong  when  the  parent  was  dying  in  their  midst, 
like  the  little  scorpions  I  have  seen  eating  their 
4  49 


mother.  I  had  some  of  them  potted  off  and  put 
under  glass,  where  they  seem  to  be  doing  well. 
I  am  now  wondering  when  they  will  flower,  and 
whether  they  will  justify  the  experiment. 

A  good  many  violets  are  in  bloom,  not  only 
the  Parma  ones  in  a  frame,  but  also  the  common 
ones  out  in  the  open.  Last  year  some  patches 
blossomed  so  freely  that  the  ground  looked  quite 
blue  with  them.  I  have  seldom  seen  them  flower  so 
profusely  before,  except  in  fields  in  Switzerland, 
and  their  behavior  was  not  at  all  in  keeping  with 
the  character  for  modesty  which  they  universally 
enjoy.  They  did  not  hesitate  to  flaunt  their 
charms  in  the  most  demonstrative  and  unblushing 
manner. 

An  occasional  lapse  of  weakness  of  this  de- 
scription, however,  according  to  the  theory  just 
propounded,  can  not  be  regarded  as  vice.  The 
most  immaculate  and  unassailable  modesty  must, 
I  suppose,  sometimes  be  permitted  to  display  its 
charms  or  there  would  be  no  evidence  of  the  ex- 
istence of  anything  to  be  diffident  about. 

Some  Parma  violets  were  left  out  in  the  open 
the  previous  winter,  and  in  a  quite  unsheltered 
50 


Cemptatfonsi 


spot,  too.  They  apparently  suffered  very  little 
from  it,  and,  although  not  so  luxuriant  as  their 
protected  brethren,  they  flowered  freely  in  the 
spring  and  are  occupying  the  same  ground  a  sec- 
ond winter  in  good  health  and  strength.  Even 
violets  fade,  though,  especially  when  plucked,  and 
their  turn  must  come  sooner  or  later,  like  the  rest. 


In  a  land  of  clear  colors  and  stories, 
In  a  region  of  shadowless  hours, 

Where  earth  has  a  garment  of  glories 
And  a  murmur  of  musical  flowers. 

Swinburne. 


53 


CHAPTER  VI 
GARDEN    PETS,    AND    OTHERS 

HAT  a  contrast  is  a  tropical  garden 
even  in  winter  and  spring  to  one 
such  as  we  in  the  north  are  accus- 
tomed to!  The  luxuriance  of  the 
two  particular  tropical  gardens,  a  town  one  and 
a  country  one,  to  which  I  refer,  was  sufficient 
even  at  Christmas  time  to  clothe  the  landscape 
in  rich  foliage,  in  many  parts  shortly  followed  by 
the  profuse  efflorescence  of  the  trees  and  shrubs. 
I  lavished  much  care  and  affection  on  these  gar- 
dens for  some  years  and  always  like  to  dwell  upon 
the  rapid  and  full  generosity  of  the  return  with 
which  nature  repaid  the  labor  bestowed  upon 
them. 

My  town  garden  was  encircled  inside  its  walls 
by  a  carriage  drive  densely  shaded  by  an  avenue 
of  evergreen,  dark-foliaged  trees,  Mimusops  elengi, 
and  the  sweet-scented  Champack,  backed  by  a 

55 


broad  shrubbery  of  variegated  and  gorgeously 
colored  shrubs,  Crotons,  Hibiscus,  Aurelias,  Panaxes, 
Durantas,  the  flaming  Poinsettia,  Draccenas,  and 
many  other  beautiful  plants  and  bushes,  while 
the  trees  were  further  adorned  with  creepers  and 
orchids. 

In  the  center  was  a  large  lawn  of  the  purest 
and  greenest  grass  that  can  be  seen  anywhere, 
sentineled  in  its  corners  by  tall  spreading  "  Flam- 
boyants "  (Poinciana  regia)  whose  immense  bril- 
liant mass  of  fire-like  blossoms  eclipsed  every- 
thing else  while  it  lasted. 

The  drive  had  a  cross-road  which  led  through 
a  porch  under  an  outlying  wing  of  the  house.  This 
porch  was  an  object  of  great  beauty,  covered  as 
it  was  with  creepers — Ficus  stipulata,  with  its  fine 
ivy-like  leaves,  and  the  gigantic  variegated  Pothos 
clinging  close  to  and  clothing  the  masonry,  the 
whole  entwined  and  festooned  with  Hoyas  and 
Beaumontia  grandiflora.  The  Beaumontia,  to  my 
mind,  is  the  most  magnificent  of  creepers,  and  the 
luxuriance  of  its  growth  and  opulence  of  its  bloom 
are  probably  unsurpassed  by  any  other  of  its  kind. 
It  mounts  to  the  summit  of  high  trees,  say  of  forty 

56 


This  Porch  was  of  Great  Beauty. 


ana 


to  fifty  feet,  in  two  years,  and  when  wreathed  in 
its  great  massive  clusters  of  rich,  white,  open, 
trumpet-shaped  flowers,  presents  a  truly  gorgeous 
spectacle. 

The  lawn  was  usually  rendered  more  attractive 
by  the  graceful  pose  of  a  pair  of  cranes.  At  one 
time  I  kept  tall,  gray  Saras  cranes,  with  red  heads, 
and  at  another  time  Demoiselle  cranes  and  a 
white-necked  stork,  a  very  wise  and  sedate  bird. 
They  all  lived  in  and  stalked  about  the  garden  at 
their  own  sweet  will  and  naturally  became  very 
tame.  But  the  most  characteristic  and  affection- 
ate bird  I  ever  kept  is  the  great  hornbill. 

I  have  had  two  specimens  of  this  bird  on  differ- 
ent occasions  and  both  of  them  showed  them- 
selves of  the  same  marked  character  and  intelli- 
gence. They  both  slept  in  a  box  nailed  to  the 
wall,  and  the  first  one  used  to  spend  his  day  sitting 
by  the  gatekeeper  at  the  sill  of  the  gateway.  He 
never  once  showed  the  least  inclination  to  pass 
that  self-imposed  barrier  to  explore  the  streets 
of  the  town,  though  he  would  remain  for  hours 
at  a  time  intently  watching  all  that  passed 
by  in  the  outer  world.  Nothing  disturbed  his 

57 


equanimity;  and,  as  I  observed  more  than  once, 
when  an  unusually  venturesome  dog  rushed  at 
him,  he  never  allowed  himself  to  be  driven  from 
his  post.  He  remained  quite  still,  and  as  the 
dog  almost  touched  him  he  suddenly  opened  his 
enormous  beak  to  its  fullest  extent.  It  was  curious 
and  delightful  to  see  how  equally  prompt  the 
canine  would-be  aggressor  dissimulated  by  pre- 
cipitately turning  a  little  aside  and  assuming  an 
extraordinary  interest  in  some  stone  or  weed 
close  by,  as  if  that  were  the  sole  object  of  his 
rapid  excursion. 

In  the  early  morning  the  bird,  after  I  had  had 
him  a  short  time,  always  placed  himself  on  the 
steps  at  the  house  door  waiting  for  me  to  come 
out  into  the  garden,  around  which  he  would  then 
follow  me  in  his  ungainly  hops.  If  I  passed  out 
of  the  door  without  taking  any  notice  of  him  he 
quickly  followed  and  gently  seized  my  trousers 
or  my  fingers  with  his  beak  to  remind  me  of  his 
presence. 

My  second  specimen  was  also  a  most  affection- 
ate pet.  Like  the  first,  he  exhibited  no  desire  to 
go  either  out  of  the  garden  or  into  the  house,  and 

58 


anti 


he  never  put  his  foot  inside  the  door,  even  when 
coaxed  to  do  so,  till  one  morning,  to  my  great 
surprise,  he  flew  from  a  tree  close  by  into  the  open 
window  of  my  little  children's  nursery.  There 
he  sat  on  the  floor  looking  with  a  sad  and  rolling 
eye  at  the  final  packing  of  boxes  and  preparations 
for  departure,  for  in  an  hour  they  were  about  to 
leave  the  country  for  England.  He  must  have 
known  and  realized  this,  for  nothing  else  had  ever 
lured  him  into  the  house  before  and  he  never  en- 
tered it  afterward.  It  was  one  of  the  most  touch- 
ing tributes  of  attachment  I  have  known. 

Sometimes  he  was  gay  and  playful.  I  shall 
never  forget  how  one  day  he  was  evidently  con- 
sumed with  an  irresistible  desire  to  join  in  a  game 
of  lawn-tennis.  Whilst  the  game  was  going  on 
he  flopped  into  the  middle  of  the  court  and  tried 
to  seize  a  ball.  He  was  "  shooed"  away  ;  but  re- 
turned again  and  again,  always  to  meet  with  the 
same  fate.  At  last  he  saw  his  chance,  got  a  ball 
in  his  beak  and  conveyed  it  to  the  low  flat  roof 
of  an  outhouse,  where  he  had  a  game  with  it 
by  himself. 

Poor  bird  !  he  came  to  a  most  tragic  end.  The 
59 


great  hornbill  is  a  clumsy  bird  and  a  very  top- 
heavy  and  weak  flier,  and  these  disabilities 
brought  about  his  death.  He  was  on  the  branch 
of  a  tree  in  the  garden  upon  which  somehow  or 
other  he  lost  his  hold.  He  was  precipitated  head 
foremost  on  to  the  ground  without  being  able  to 
recover  himself,  and  broke  his  neck. — R.  I.  P. 

The  only  other  bird  I  have  had  which  compared 
in  intelligence  and  character  with  the  hornbill 
was  a  small  bird  of  the  parrot  tribe,  called  in 
Ecuador  Cherlecres  and  in  Brazil  Marianita.  One 
of  these  charming  little  creatures  accompanied  me 
everywhere  on  my  travels  for  many  months  and 
I  never  had  him  imprisoned  in  a  cage  or  tied  up. 
He  was,  of  course,  pinioned.  The  height  of  his 
bliss  was  to  climb  up  my  clothes  till  he  reached 
my  shoulder,  where  he  would  sit  contentedly  and 
whistle.  He  never  screamed  after  I  had  once  or 
twice  evinced  my  strong  aversion  to  such  harsh 
noises.  He  allowed  me  to  scratch  him  under  the 
wings,  and — the  great  repugnance  of  birds — even 
to  lay  him  flat  on  his  back,  in  which  position, 
until  told  to :  "  Fica  morto !  "  he  would  remain 
"  dead  "  till  ordered  to  rise  again.  He  traveled 
60 


<0amen  $et&  and 


with  me  in  the  wilds  and  in  civilization,  in  boats, 
steamers,  and  in  a  sailing  ship  on  the  ocean  — 
always  loose  and  happy  in  his  liberty.  At  a  hotel 
I  stayed  at  he  wandered  about  everywhere,  and 
when  one  day  he  was  not  to  be  found,  I  was  taken 
to  the  kitchen,  where  I  perceived  him  on  a  long 
table  in  front  of  the  cooks,  very  busy  tasting  the 
good  things  they  were  preparing. 

As  this  chapter  seems  to  have  slid  from  horti- 
culture into  zoology,  I  can  not  while  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  intelligence  of  animals  resist  the 
temptation  of  narrating  the  most  remarkable  case 
of  the  clear  exercise  of  reasoning  which  I  have 
myself  witnessed  in  an  animal. 

It  was  an  orang-utan,  almost  full-grown,  and 
as  far  as  my  memory  serves  me  a  male.  He 
was  in  a  spacious  cage  separated  by  bars  from 
another  similar  adjoining  one  which  was  un- 
occupied. At  the  back  of  each  cage  was  a  second 
compartment,  or  bedchamber,  with  raised  board- 
ing and  straw  upon  it. 

After  giving  my  very  anthropomorphous 
friend  some  bread  to  eat,  I  threw  a  piece  into  the 
next  cage  out  of  his  reach.  He  made  several  en- 

61 


deavors  with  his  long  arms  to  take  it  and  finding 
this  of  no  avail  tried  with  his  legs  (or,  should  I 
say  in  the  case  of  quadrumana,  posterior  arms?), 
which,  of  course,  were  shorter.  Finding  himself 
thus  nonplussed,  he  hesitated;  but  after  a  few 
moments'  apparent  reflection  his  mind  was  made 
up.  He  retired  into  his  bedchamber,  whence  he 
at  once  returned,  dragging  some  of  the  straw 
with  him.  This  he  then  twisted  roughly  together 
into  a  primitive  sort  of  rope,  and  taking  the  two 
ends  in  his  hand  pushed  his  arm  through  the  bars 
and  "fished"  for  the  bread  with  the  bight  or 
loop.  After  one  or  two  misses  he  caught  the 
prize  and  triumphantly  drew  it  toward  him. 

Now,  I  do  not  wish  to  depreciate  the  intelli- 
gence of  other  orang-utans  and  chimpanzees 
at  the  London  Zoo,  who  learn  to  count  straws 
and  exhibit  proofs  of  self-abnegation  in  taking 
small  pieces  of  apple  whilst  leaving  the  larger 
ones  for  the  keeper ;  but  as  an  example  of  the  un- 
tutored and  deliberate  exercise  of  the  reasoning 
faculty  I  think  my  record  occupies  a  higher  plane. 
Indeed,  many  human  beings,  and  perhaps  a  very 
large  proportion  of  them,  vain  as  we  are  of  our 

62 


anD 


intellectual  powers,  would  not  have  been  able  to 
exert  their  faculties  to  such  excellent  effect  in 
similar  circumstances. 

The  orang-utan  demonstrated  unmistakably 
that  man  is  not  the  only  genus  and  species  "  ra- 
tionis  capax,"  a  fact  which  ought  to  humble  our 
pride. 


'Sag  ich's  euch,  geliebte  Baume, 
Die  ich  ahndevoll  gepflanzt, 
Als  die  wunderbarsten  Traume 
Morgenrdthlig  mich  umtanzt  ? 
Ach,  ihr  wisst  es,  wie  ich  liebe, 
Die  so  schon  mich  wieder  liebt, 
Die  den  reinsten  meiner  Trieb^ 
Mir  noch  reiner  wiedergiebt." 

_____  p 

Shall  I  tell  you,  dearest  trees,  mine, 

"Wistful  planted  in  the  ground, 
Whilst  the  most  amazing  visions 

Circled  like  the  dawn  around  ? 
Oh !  you  know  it,  how  I  love  her 

"Who  my  love  restores  so  true, 
Who  my  purest  inspirations, 

Purer  still  reflects  like  you. 


CHAPTER  VII 
TROPICAL    TREES 


N  the  country  garden  that  I  loved  in 
the  tropics  there  were  many  beauti- 
ful trees  and  shrubs;  great  clumps 
of  tall,  swaying  bamboos  of  va- 
rious species,  graceful  groups  of  palms,  large 
spreading  rain-trees  (Pithecolobium  saman),  the 
canopied  and  sweet-scented  Dim-Dim,  the  flaming 
Poinciana,  the  rich  golden  Cassia  fistula,  the  deli- 
cately fringed  mauve  Lagerstramia  regina,  the 
silver-  and  golden-balled  Anthocephalus  cadamba, 
and  many  other  large  and  glorious  flowering 
trees. 

The  creepers,  too,  were  a  sight  to  behold ;  large 
masses  of  mauve  Bougainmllea,  brilliant  orange 
Bignonia  venusta,  bright  blue  Clitoria  and  Convol- 
vulus Pentanthus,  red  and  white  Quisqualis,  lilac 
pink  Tecoma,  slate  blue  Petroea,  crimson  Poivrea 
Coccinea,  pure  canary  yellow  Allamanda,  the  rich 


pink    Antigonon — surely    a    sufficient    variety    of 
massive  coloring  to  please  the  most  exacting. 

The  growth  of  all  the  vegetation  was  marvel- 
ous, especially  that  of  the  rain-tree  and  the  giant 
bamboo.  The  former,  though  planted  as  small 
trees  two  to  three  feet  high  and  as  thin  as  slate- 
pencils  in  an  avenue  six  feet  from  each  side  of  a 
carriage  drive,  at  the  end  of  their  second  year  had 
met  and  formed  an  archway  eighteen  to  twenty 
feet  high  over  the  road.  At  five  years  of  age  their 
stems  attained  a  thickness  of  eighteen  inches  to 
two  feet,  and  their  height,  with  a  wide  spread  of 
foliage,  over  forty  feet. 

The  growth  of  a  bamboo  is  perhaps  even  more 
remarkable.  The  clump  of  Bambusa  gigantea 
would  in  one  season  throw  up  fifteen  to  twenty 
stems  five  to  six  inches  in  diameter  to  the  height 
of  about  fifty  to  sixty  feet  in  two  months!  Im- 
agine the  vigorous  constructive  elaboration  that 
must  take  place  to  build  up  such  a  mass  of  sub- 
stantial material  from  the  soil  and  the  atmosphere, 
and  what  force  must  be  exerted  to  draw  the  neces- 
sary constituents  together  and  adjust  them  to 
their  new  structure ! 

68 


Cteess 


Besides  the  trees  in  the  garden,  I  must  mention 
a  few  other  specially  attractive  ones  which  flour- 
ished in  the  neighborhood,  such  as  the  charming 
Banhinia  variegata,  various  splendid  large  speci- 
mens of  which  always  reminded  me  of  some  fair 
spirit  being  wafted  from  "  under  the  violets  "  up 
toward  heaven  in  a  cloud  of  delicate  airy  blos- 
som, and  the  Cassia  nodosa,  appareled  for  fully  two 
months  on  end  with  lovely  rose-pink  drapery 
more  dainty  and  fresher  than  apple  blossom.  The 
dazzling  pure  orange  claws,  sheathed  in  deep 
olive-green  velvet,  of  the  Butea  frondosa  can  also 
not  pass  unnoticed ;  but  there  are  so  many  strik- 
ingly beautiful  flowering  trees  in  the  tropics  that 
I  can  not  attempt  to  describe  more  than  these 
few,  which  form  the  most  vivid  pictures  in  my 
mind  at  the  moment. 

In  the  rose  garden  I  had  a  rose  called  "  Baronne 
Pelletan  de  Kinkellan."  It  was  a  beautiful  dark 
red  one.  I  have  looked  for  it  in  vain  in  the  cata- 
logues which  now  come  before  me,  but  have  been 
unable  to  find  it,  though  I  should  much  like  to 
have  it  again.  Perhaps,  like  some  of  its  fair 
sisters,  it  has  an  alias. 

69 


d5artien  jftogaicg 


Among  trees,  my  allegiance  has  never  swerved 
from  Albizzia  paludosa,  which,  on  the  whole,  I  think 
is  the  most  beautiful  tree  I  have  ever  seen,  if  one 
can  say  that  one  species  is  more  attractive  than 
others  of  entirely  diverse  type  and  habit.  It  would 
be  like  determining  that  one  admired  only  fair 
women;  and  so  perhaps  one  does  so  long  as  one 
of  that  divine  type  is  reflected  upon  the  retina 
of  the  eye  or  mind.  But  let  a  dark  beauty  of 
chiseled  feature  and  flashing  eye  step  on  the 
scene  and  one's  allegiance  begins  to  waver.  One 
says  to  himself,  and  perchance  even  would  wish 
to  say  to  her:  "  Before,  I  thought  I  loved  only  fair 
women,  but  now  I  am  sure  I  love  them  dark ! " 
Even  as  I  record  my  undivided  and  supreme  de- 
votion to  the  Albizzia,  radiant  images  of  superb 
cedars  and  firs  present  themselves  before  me  and 
remind  me  of  the  superlative  admiration  I  gave 
them  when  honored  by  their  presence.  There  are 
of  course  trees  of  different  complexion,  just  as 
there  are  women.  The  lime  and  the  birch  I  re- 
gard as  specimens  of  the  fair  type,  and  the  cedar, 
cypress,  and  Scotch  fir  as  specimens  of  the  dark 
type  of  beauty.  Most  trees,  like  most  human  be- 

70 


The  Most   Beautiful  Tree  I  Have  Ever  Seen. 


Cms 


ings,  are  between  the  two,  and  the  vast  majority 
of  them  are  similarly  crowded  together  and  take 
their  form  from  the  multitude  which  surrounds 
them,  living  through  their  span  of  life  without 
ever  having  stretched  their  limbs  independently 
and  without  ever  having  experienced  the  joy  of 
learning  their  capabilities  in  isolation.  It  is  only 
in  solitude  that  the  tree  or  the  mind  can  develop 
its  own  habit,  in  a  freedom  and  originality  which 
are  incompatible  with  the  cramping  and  monot- 
onous influences  of  a  perpetually  gregarious  so- 
cial existence. 

My  special  inamorata,  for  scientific  nomencla- 
ture regards  all  trees  as  feminine,  the  Albizzia,  is 
a  blond  beauty,  tall  and  divinely  fair.  Her  trunk 
is  smooth,  light  gray  in  color,  and  she  begins  to 
spread  her  limbs  soon  after  emerging  from  the 
soil.  She  multiplies  and  expands  them,  gradually 
pressing  them  upward  through  the  air  till  they 
overtop  all  her  companions.  At  about  thirty  to 
thirty-five  feet  from  the  ground  her  trunk  divides 
itself  into  some  score  of  stems  and  branches  sep- 
arating from  each  other  little  by  little.  The  first 
foliage  begins  to  show  itself  at  this  elevation  and 

71 


jttogaicg 


the  process  of  easy  lateral  expansion  continues 
as  the  stems  rise  and  multiply  until  a  gigantic 
bundle  of  plumes  ninety  feet  in  height  and  pro- 
portioned in  the  most  perfect  grace  has  been  con- 
structed. There  is  no  single  main  stem  beyond 
five  feet  from  the  ground,  and  the  whole  tree  in 
its  full  plumage  has  the  appearance  of  a  most  ele- 
gantly fashioned  and  colossal  posy. 

Peerless  beauties,  of  such  striking  dimensions 
as  the  Albizzia  I  have  tried  to  describe,  are  of 
course  few;  but  in  the  humbler  walks  of  plant- 
life  there  are  innumerable  unobtrusive  graces, 
none  the  less  alluring  and  instructive  for  being 
diminutive,  retiring,  and  artless. 

There  is  often  more  faultlessness  in  small  and 
unobtrusive  things  than  in  great  ones,  possibly 
because  the  former  have  less  accommodation  for 
big  faults.  There  is  undoubtedly  ampler  scope 
for  great  failings  and  more  temptation  to  commit 
them  in  great  people ;  hence,  "  noblesse  oblige  " 
to  help  to  keep  them  straight.  The  law  of  com- 
pensation imposes  additional  obligations  and 
duties  with  every  bounty  conferred. 

As  regards  dimensions,  we  are  all  apt  to  pay  an 
72 


Croptcal 


inordinate  proportion  of  tribute  to  mere  size, 
which  is  probably  an  unformulated  acknowledg- 
ment of  our  own  insignificance  in  space.  We  are 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  magnitude  of  infinity  and 
our  minds  fail  to  grasp  it.  But  can  we  understand 
and  is  it  not  equally  amazing  that  there  should  be 
nothing  so  small  that  it  is  not  capable  of  illimita- 
ble subdivision  into  endless  infinity? 


73 


Er  ist  so  Ka.lt,  der  fremde  Sonnenschein, 
Ich  mochte,  ja  ich  m6cht',  zu  Hause  sein ! 

Herwogh. 

The  alien  sunshine  chills  in  every  pore, 
I  long  and  yearn  to  be  at  home  once  more. 


75 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE    CHILD    AND    THE    GARDEN 

FTER  our  little  excursion  into  the 
tropics  we  must  now  return  home 
again,  for  the  homing  instinct  is 
potent  in  all  sentient  and  intelligent 
beings.  We  are  not  always  able  to  explain  to 
ourselves  the  cause  of  this  desire  to  return  home 
which  accompanies  most  of  us  through  life, 
though  of  course  it  is  manifest  enough  where  the 
recollections  of  childhood  and  early  development 
have  been  pleasant  ones,  as  I  hope  they  are  in  the 
vast  majority  of  cases. 

But  there  is  something  more  than  this  in  it,  and 
the  instinct  frequently  exists  apart  from  visible 
external  allurements.  It  is,  I  suppose,  the  uncon- 
scious impression  of  the  earliest  period  of  depend- 
ence, when  the  child  has  virtually  no  separate  ex- 
istence and  when  every  necessity  and  want  has 
been  supplied  by  fostering  care  upon  which  its 

77 


dffarden  jttogaicg 


very  life  and  nourishment  depended.  Even  apart 
from  affection,  this  impression  remains  and  draws 
the  weary  and  troubled  at  all  periods  of  life  back 
to  what  was  the  haven  of  its  origin. 

The  feeling  or  passion  has  been  well  described 
in  a  charming  German  song  by  Gumbert,  Das 
theure  Vaterhaus,  of  which  I  will  give  a  transla- 
tion for  those  who  do  not  know  or  are  unable  to 
appreciate  the  original : 

I  know  of  something  dearest 

Upon  God's  great  wide  world, 
That  round  my  heart  clings  nearest 

And  closest  ever  furled. 
No  friend,  not  e'en  a  sweetheart, 

Can  lure  my  love  to  roam 
From  longings  keen  for  fatherland 

And  the  beloved  old  home. 

Through  life,  amidst  all  pleasures 

And  joys  that  fill  the  breast, 
The  heart  of  hearts  still  treasures 

The  greater  bliss  of  rest. 
Hot  tears  of  tender  yearning 

From  heart  and  eyes  must  come 
At  thought  of  dear  old  fatherland 

And  the  paternal  home. 

78 


anti  t^e 


And  at  the  end,  when  of  this  life 
The  bitter  course  is  run, 
Then  set  me  up  a  grave-mound 
With  flowers  in  the  sun. 
But  take  out  from  this  bosom 
Nor  farther  let  it  roam 
The  weary  heart  which  rest  can  find 
Nowhere  but  in  its  home. 

I  must  confess  that  the  song  loses  in  the  trans- 
lation much  of  the  spirit  breathed  in  the  original  ; 
but  that  is  almost  inevitable  in  translations. 

For  my  own  part,  I  live  in  the  garden,  looking 
upon  the  house  more  as  a  temporary  abode  and 
shelter  for  the  night,  and  I  consider  that  a  garden 
should  be  a  home  in  itself  and,  besides  other 
things,  first  of  all  the  abode  of  innocent,  happy 
childhood,  the  later  recollections  of  which  can 
never  be  purer  or  more  unalloyed  than  when 
dwelling  upon  the  sweet-scented  memories  of  the 
place  in  the  open  air  where  it  played  and  frolicked. 
Perhaps  no  one  has  better  described  what  it 
should  be  to  all  ages  of  life,  to  "  the  three  Ages 
of  Love,"  as  the  old  song  has  it,  than  the  poet 
laureate  in  his  gem-like  poem  Had  I  a  Garden. 


79 


d&atflen 


Had  I  a  garden,  it  should  lie 

All  smiling  to  the  sun, 
And  after  bird  and  butterfly 

Children  should  romp  and  run; 
Filling  their  little  laps  with  flowers, 

The  air  with  shout  and  song, 
While  golden  crests  in  guelder  bowers 

Rippled  the  whole  day  long. 

Had  I  a  garden,  alleys  green 

Should  lead  where  none  would  guess, 
Save  lovers,  to  exchange  unseen, 

Shy  whisper  and  caress. 
For  them  the  nightingale  should  sing 

Long  after  it  was  June, 
And  they  should  kiss  and  deem  it  spring, 

Under  the  harvest  moon. 

Had  I  a  garden,  claustral  yews 

Should  shut  out  railing  wind, 
That  Poets  might  on  sadness  muse 

With  a  majestic  mind ; 
With  ear  attuned  and  god-like  gaze 

Scan  Heaven,  and  fathom  Hell, 
Then  through  life's  labyrinthine  maze 

Chant  to  us,  "All  is  well!" 

Had  I  a  garden,  it  should  grow 

Shelter  where  feeble  feet 
Might  loiter  long,  or  wander  slow, 

And  deem  decadence  sweet; 
80 


Her  Beloved  White  Pigeons  Settled  About  Her. 


Ctyilti  anti  tyt 


Pausing,  might  ponder  on  the  past, 

Vague  twilight  in  their  eyes, 
Wane  calmer,  comelier,  to  the  last, 

Then  die,  as  Autumn  dies. 

All  gardens,  I  suppose,  bear  traces  of  child- 
hood, either  in  the  shape  of  the  little  retired  plots 
called  "  the  children's  gardens  "  or  in  other  forms. 
In  my  garden,  the  period  of  children's  plots,  alas ! 
has  passed;  but  I  am  still  able  to  cherish  marks 
of  reminiscence  left  by  little  visitors  whose  fairy 
presence  has  from  time  to  time  vied  with  the  flow- 
ers in  bringing  home  to  one  the  beauties  and  joys 
of  nature.  One  delightful  little  being,  herself  one 
of  the  fairest  and  gayest  of  flowers,  has  left  be- 
hind her  numerous  mementoes.  One  of  these  is 
a  rose-bush,  "Black  Prince,"  specially  appropri- 
ated, on  her  own  initiative,  by  the  little  "  White 
Princess,"  to  be  cared  for  and  tended  in  future  on 
her  behalf. 

Another  is  a  real  memento  mori,  the  grave  of  one 
of  her  beloved  white  pigeons  about  the  place,  who 
flew  to  her  and  settled  about  her  as  though  they 
also,  like  the  flowers,  recognized  her  as  one  of 
themselves.  The  poor  bird  fell  a  prey  to  the 
6  81 


terrier  "Tim,"  usually  a  well-behaved  and  hu- 
mane dog  where  house  pets  are  concerned.  In 
this  case,  however,  a  moment  of  excitement  evi- 
dently made  him  forget  his  accustomed  self-con- 
trol in  the  face  of  temptation,  or  possibly  he  also 
thought  that  temptation  was  made  to  be  fallen 
into  and  that  to  flee  from  it  was  a  sign  of  weak- 
ness. However  that  may  be,  the  consequences 
of  wrong-doing  are  never  confined  to  the  wrong- 
doer, which  must  be  the  reason  why  wrong-doing 
is  wrong,  and  the  bird  was  killed.  The  little 
"  Princess  "  demanded  an  immediate  funeral ;  but 
as  bedtime  was  near  this  was  deferred  to  the  next 
day,  when  the  obsequies  were  performed  and  the 
body  was  consigned  to  earth  under  the  beech-tree, 
close  to  the  grave  of  a  departed  specimen  of  the 
offending  canine  race.  The  selection  of  an  epi- 
taph for  the  tombstone,  which  consisted  of  a  large 
wooden  label,  next  became  a  subject  of  anxious 
deliberation,  the  final  solution  resulting  in  the 
eloquent  and  original  inscription :  "  Poor  Pigeon 
—Naughty  Timmy." 

A  remarkable  incident/  which  I  must  relate, 
occurred  among  these  pigeons — mostly  white  fan- 
82 


C^ilD  an&  t^c 


tails  and  magpies.  The  first  young  bird  fledged 
after  her  lamented  majesty's  death  last  year  de- 
veloped a  perfectly  drawn  black  edge  over  the 
whole  arc  of  its  otherwise  pure  white  tail. 

Other  souvenirs,  forgotten  at  the  departure  and 
which  await  their  owner's  return,  were  a  little 
wooden  spade  and  a  golliwog.  The  poor  golliwog 
presumably  must  have  strayed  away  from  the 
house  and  lost  his  bearings.  When  his  mistress 
departed  he  was  not  to  be  found  anywhere  and 
was  given  up  for  lost.  What  was  my  astonish- 
ment, therefore,  about  a  week  later,  to  find  him 
sitting  on  one  of  the  cross  seats  of  the  punt  which 
floats  under  the  name  of  the  little  "  Princess  "  on 
the  stream  running  through  the  garden,  exalted 
in  its  humility  by  the  appellation  of  "  The  Drain." 
The  poor  creature,  though  still  possessed  of  suffi- 
cient strength  to  sit  up,  had  a  most  wobegone 
appearance,  and  the  way  in  which  his  head 
drooped  upon  his  chest,  and  the  vacant,  glassy 
look  in  his  eye,  denoted  eloquently  the  mental  and 
physical  privation  and  suffering  he  must  have 
undergone.  I  was  really  quite  startled  when  I 
saw  him  again,  not  having  heard  from  any  one 

83 


of  his  reappearance,  and  my  imagination  at  once 
made  clear  to  me  what  adventurous  hardships  he 
must  have  been  exposed  to.  I  conjectured  that, 
without  the  graceful  and  charming  companions 
of  the  golliwog  in  the  story-book,  having  lost  his 
way,  he  wandered  about  for  days,  anxious  and 
wet,  for  the  weather  was  unpropitious,  in  the 
shrubberies,  sleeping  the  nights  under  such  shel- 
ter as  the  thickest  box-bushes  or  rhododendrons 
afforded.  At  length,  having  searched  in  vain  for 
his  friends,  who  were  comfortably  housed  in  the 
doll's  house  and  story-book,  he  doubtless  reached 
the  banks  of  "  The  Drain,"  famished,  bedraggled, 
and  footsore.  The  gardener  says  he  found  him 
on  the  ground  and  put  him  in  the  punt ;  but  that 
must  be  a  pleasant  fiction,  for  my  own  conviction 
is  that  from  the  shores  of  "  The  Drain  "  the  golli- 
wog saw  the  punt  with  his  mistress*  name  painted 
upon  it  in  red  letters  and  that  having  learned  to 
read  he  recognized  these,  swam  off  from  the  bank, 
clambered  over  the  side  of  the  punt  and  sat  him- 
self upon  the  seat  to  rest  from  his  exertions.  If 
any  one  doubts  this  account  of  what  must  have 
happened  they  are  welcome  to  inspect  "The 

84 


CDttft  an&  t^e 


Drain,"  the  punt  with  the  name  on  it,  and  the 
golliwog  himself  ;  and  I  can  further,  if  need  be,  as- 
sure any  disbeliever  that  I  really  found  the  little 
dark-complexioned  gentleman  on  the  seat  looking 
very  disconsolate,  and  —  he  was  wet!  Could  fur- 
ther proof  be  needed,  even  by  Sherlock  Holmes? 
The  golliwog  may,  moreover,  still  be  seen  sitting 
on  a  shelf  over  the  window  of  my  dressing-room, 
and  he  is  now  dry.  I  have  no  wish  to  fortify  my 
case  by  keeping  him  permanently  moist. 

I  can  not  end  this  chapter  without  quoting 
Harold  Begbie's  beautiful  lines  on  Childhood  : 

How  like  an  open  flow'r  thou  art, 
Dear  life  aglow  with  all  that's  sweet, 

Blue  sunny  eyes,  a  bounding  heart, 
Innocent  hands  and  feet. 

In  what  cool  paths  thy  footsteps  run, 
A  garden  plot  thine  orbed  earth: 

And  all  thy  quest  beneath  the  sun 
Innocent  joy  and  mirth. 

Thy  prattle  thrills  the  quivering  lark, 
Thy  laughter  tips  the  rippling  corn, 

All  happy  things  rejoicing  mark 
Thy  coming,  like  the  morn. 

85 


The  sunbeams  glint  thy  woodland  way, 
The  squirrel  skips  before  thy  feet, 

And  bluebells  in  the  bracken  say — 
Little  hands  gather  us :  we  are  sweet ! 

I  know  not  on  this  thorny  earth 

A  purity  so  white,  intense ; 
Sin  howling  at  the  doors  of  mirth 

Shrinks  from  such  innocence. 

Oh  that  the  chafing  waves  of  time 
With  muffled  moan  and  stifled  roar, 

With  all  the  ages'  silt  and  slime, 
Fret  at  this  green,  green  shore ! 

Oh  that  my  jealous  eyes  must  see 
This  joyance  fade  from  lip  and  eye, 

And  ever  'twixt  my  child  and  me 
A  chilling  shadow  lie. 

Oh  that  this  smooth  white  brow  must  cloud, 
The  calm  of  these  brave  eyes  be  riven, 

Not  all  thy  thoughts  be  said  aloud, 
Not  all  thy  smiles  be  given  I 

Oh  that  these  little  feet  must  stand 
Where  now  I  stumble,  grope  and  pray, 

And  where  another  Father's  hand 
Alone  must  guide  thy  way! 


86 


Die  Herrlichkeit  der  Welt  ist  immer  adaquat  der 
Herrlichkeit  des  Geistes,  der  sie  betrachtet. 

Heine. 

The  splendor  of  the  world  is  always  commensurate 
With  the  elevation  of  the  mind  •which  contemplates  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TRAINING    THE    GARDEN 

HAD  always  heard  that  very  old 
elms  were  dangerous  trees  on  ac- 
count of  the  risk  of  collapse  of  their 
branches;  but  I  did  not  realize  the 
warning  adequately  till  last  winter,  when  sud- 
denly, one  quiet  day,  when  there  was  no  wind,  a 
limb  fell  off  a  large  elm  which  stands  just  inside 
my  hedge  near  the  road.  The  main  branch  meas- 
ured twenty-two  inches  in  diameter  and  the  whole 
of  it  was  sound  and  without  a  trace  of  decay  in 
any  part  of  it.  It  fell  in  a  most  considerate  man- 
ner, its  main  fork  astride  the  hedge,  which  it 
therefore  left  undamaged.  I  shortened  the  outer 
leg  and  with  the  aid  of  a  rope  and  some  strong 
men  tumbled  the  whole  branch  across  the  road. 
The  proportions  of  the  bough  may  be  realized 
when  I  mention  that  it  provided  exercise  for  my- 
self and  guests,  who  are  always  expected  to  join 
89 


in  the  labor,  on  and  off  during  most  of  the  winter, 
in  sawing  and  cutting. 

It  furnished  many  sturdy  blocks  as  pedestals 
for  large  flower  tubs  and  for  other  purposes; 
heavy  frames  for  rustic  benches;  cross-sections 
polished  I  made  up  into  tables  and  stools,  and  the 
house  was  supplied  with  firelogs  through  the  cold 
weather,  the  cutting  and  splitting  of  which 
warmed  one  thoroughly  on  the  bleakest  day. 

It  was  sad  to  see  the  poor  tree,  still  strong  and 
sound  to  all  appearance,  losing  his  limbs,  another 
smaller  one  having  also  dropped  off  some  months 
later. 

I  can,  however,  imagine  his  saying,  like  The 
Fallen  Elm,  in  Veronica's  Garden: 

Nay,  pity  me  not,  I  am  living  still, 
Though  prone  on  the  plowed-up  earth. 

They  will  carry  me  in  from  the  well-walled  garth. 

Where  the  logs  are  split  and  stored, 
And  lay  me  down  where  the  blazing  hearth 

Glints  warm  on  the  beakered  board. 

I  shall  roar  my  stave  through  the  chimney's  throat, 

Oh,  I  am  not  dead,  though  my  head  droops  low, 
That  used  in  the  Spring  to  soar 
90 


emitting 


To  the  sky  half-way,  and  the  friendless  crow 
Will  nest  in  my  fork  no  more. 

So  sorrow  you  not  if  I  cease  to  soar, 

And  am  sundered  by  saw  and  bill: 
Rather  hope  that,  like  me,  when  you're  green  no 
more, 

You  may  comfort  your  kindred  still. 

These  thoughts  are  certainly  very  comforting 
when  one  is  pained  by  the  sight  of  the  living  dis- 
solution of  a  vegetable  monarch  in  all  its  apparent 
undecayed  health  and  strength,  and  at  the  summit 
of  its  glory. 

In  trying  to  explain  to  myself  the  reason  of  this 
seemingly  unaccountable  dismemberment  of  very 
old  elms,  I  notice  that  the  lower  and  heavier 
branches,  probably  by  reason  of  their  accretion 
of  bulk,  very  gradually  assume  an  increasingly 
horizontal  position,  thus  unfitting  them  more  and 
more  to  bear  the  strain  of  their  own  weight, 
which,  as  their  angle  becomes  more  obtuse  in  re- 
lation to  the  parent  stem,  eventually  compasses 
their  collapse.  No  doubt  the  fiber  also  loses  elas- 
ticity and  becomes  more  brittle  with  age.  Some 
of  the  lower  branches  of  another,  my  favorite, 


d&atflen 


elm  stand  out  almost  horizontal  from  the  trunk, 
and  from  their  great  weight  I  fear  their  doom  is 
also  not  far  off. 

A  fine,  large,  and  well-grown  ash  has  also  dis- 
appeared from  the  strip  of  ground  which  I  call 
"  The  Wilderness,"  on  the  other  side  of  our  thirty- 
two  feet  broad  "  Drain."  It  was  blown  down  in  a 
violent  gale  which  swept  over  the  country  last 
October.  It  had  a  fine,  sound,  straight  stem,  over 
fifty  feet  of  which  were  sold  for  timber,  whilst  the 
branches  again  served  for  useful  domestic  pur- 
poses. The  trunk  fell  right  across  the  stream, 
and  its  removal  occasioned  much  hard  and  inter- 
esting work;  but  I  would  much  rather  see  it 
flourishing  in  its  old  place  among  its  stately 
fellows,  where  its  presence  would  be  a  greater 
comfort  to  me  than  its  economic  utilization. 

It  always  seems  to  me  a  comparatively  easier 
and  shorter  matter  to  build  a  royal  palace  than  to 
grow  a  regal  tree,  and  I  am  thus  correspondingly 
distressed  at  the  loss  of  what  it  is  at  least  impos- 
sible to  replace  within  a  period  measured  by  the 
ordinary  expectation  of  individual  human  life. 

The  "  Wilderness,"  which  I  have  just  men- 
92 


Crafning  ttye  (0artien 


tioned,  was,  when  I  entered  into  its  possession 
and  enjoyment  with  the  rest  of  the  domain,  a 
small  strip  of  land,  bounded  by  a  high  and  ill-kept 
hedge,  and  separated  from  the  garden  by  a 
banked-up  brook  which  I  elegantly  christened 
"The  Drain."  It  was  densely  overgrown  with 
wild  ivy  and  garlic,  the  soil  thickly  interwoven  all 
over  with  the  creeping  roots  of  stinging  nettles, 
this  "  jungly  "  undergrowth  shaded  by  the  fine 
but  maimed  elm  aforesaid,  a  handsome  chestnut,  a 
few  tall  and  well- grown  ash,  some  alders  along 
the  water's  edge,  and  a  number  of  firs. 

I  had  the  undergrowth  cleared  away,  the  nettles 
and  garlic  as  far  as  possible  rooted  out,  and  put 
in  quantities  of  bluebells,  primroses,  common 
daffodils,  crocuses,  lilies-of-the-valley,  and  other 
roots;  whilst  I  scattered  freely  about  a  plentiful 
supply  of  seed  of  foxglove,  purple  loosestrife,  and 
meadowsweet.  With  the  last  two  along  the 
bank  I  planted  rushes,  marsh-marigold,  and  water 
forget-me-nots. 

My  plan  of  endeavoring  to  produce  a  wilder- 
ness of  wild  flowers  I  hope  will  eventually  suc- 
ceed, and  if  it  does  the  irregular  masses  of  color 

93 


dPartien 


will  look  very  pretty  under  the  trees  from  the 
garden  side  of  the  stream.  The  foxgloves  have 
come  up  in  thousands,  and  some  of  the  meadow- 
sweet and  loosestrife  also  exhibited  themselves 
last  summer,  so  I  may  hope  they  will  become 
firmly  established.  The  other  things  can  take 
care  of  themselves.  Some  Spanish  irises,  how- 
ever, were  dug  out  and  destroyed  by  water-rats, 
against  which  I  subsequently  waged  war  with 
considerable  success. 

I  suppose  in  time  I  shall  learn  how  to  make 
flowers  grow  in  what  was  and  still  strives  to  re- 
main a  wilderness  of  garlic,  nettles,  and  ivy ;  but 
one's  education  into  a  proper  understanding  of 
the  secret  processes  of  nature  is  always  a  matter 
of  time  and  patience. 

A  charming  writer  who  recently  made  A 
Journey  to  Nature  says:  "You  want  to  know 
the  secret  of  nature;  well,  you  will  have  to  be- 
come an  obedient  part  of  it,  then  you  will  know, 
but  you  will  lose  the  power  and  the  desire  to  tell 
it."  How  many,  who  have  communed  with  na- 
ture, must  have  felt  this. 

Our  education,  unfortunately,  does  not  attempt 
94 


Ctafnftig  t^e  d5artien 


to  place  us  in  our  proper  relationship  with  na- 
ture, and  we  are  seldom  taught  to  understand  its 
commonest  manifestations.  How  many  "edu- 
cated "  persons  in  modern  society  can  explain,  for 
instance,  what  causes  the  rain  to  fall,  why  the  sea 
is  salt,  or  what  impels  the  wind  to  blow? 

We  inherit  but  little  knowledge  and  much 
prejudice  and  ignorance,  and  during  a  great  por- 
tion of  our  so-called  educational  period  our  minds 
are  still  further  prejudiced  and  warped  by  the 
learning  instilled  into  them  against  all  other  con- 
flicting knowledge.  We  are  not  trained  suffi- 
ciently into  simple  receptivity  of  all  classes  of 
knowledge  and  taught  to  observe  and  appraise 
and  compare  and  deduce  for  ourselves  of  our  own 
initiative. 

Our  great  difficulty  in  mature  life  is  to  see 
clearly  through  the  mist  in  which  we  have  been 
enveloped  in  our  youth  and  to  "  depolarize  "  our 
minds  from  bias  and  symbolic  jargon.  Without 
some  determined  effort  to  see  things  from  outside 
our  one-sided  selves,  there  is  but  little  possibility 
of  our  discerning  anything  as  it  really  is. 

Education  ought  to  impart  the  means  of  acquir- 
95 


ing  knowledge — reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic. 
For  the  rest,  in  theory,  we  should  be  brought  up 
in  the  gutter,  with  our  minds  open  and  our  pow- 
ers of  original  observation  developed  to  the  ut- 
most. In  practise,  I  fear  this  scheme  would  not 
answer ;  but  perhaps  more  practical  results  would 
be  attained  if  the  theory  were  kept  a  little  more 
in  view  than  it  is.  The  proper  inculcation  of  a 
spirit  of  discipline  would  also  be  somewhat  in- 
compatible with  such  a  theory.  Discipline,  how- 
ever, is  apt  to  be  looked  upon  by  many,  like  virtue 
or  humility,  as  an  excellent  attribute — for  other 
people. 

The  prejudice  instilled  before  the  mind  reaches 
its  strength  of  independence  is,  of  course,  great- 
est in  the  matter  of  ethics,  as  we  are  not  given 
a  broad  code,  as  Descartes  set  to  himself,  of  a 
"  Morale  par  provision,"  to  serve  until  such  time 
as  a  better  one  can  be  substituted.  Neither  are 
we  warned  sufficiently  that  our  virtuous  inclina- 
tions ought  to  be  watched  and  are  as  likely  to  lead 
us  astray  as  our  vices.  The  latter,  if  at  all  pro- 
nounced, are  apparent  to  ourselves  as  well  as  to 
others  and  obtrude  themselves  for  correction  and 


Ctsinfng  ttje 


subjugation.  But  our  affections,  generosity,  so- 
ciability, sensibility,  and  desire  to  please  are  much 
more  insidious  and  are  liable  to  grow  and  finally 
to  run  riot  till  they  have  led  us  into  trouble  and 
even  into  vice  itself.  The  obvious  corollary  of 
this  would  be  that  it  is  sounder  to  enter  upon  a 
controlled  career  of  moderate  vice,  to  be  modified 
and  transformed  by  the  experience  of  the  lessons 
it  teaches,  than  to  let  unbridled  virtue  pursue  its 
mad  career  unadmonished  and  unchecked. 

There  is  only  one  more  item  in  connection  with 
the  education  of  the  young  which  I  wish  to  refer 
to  and  that  is  the  fatal  gift  of  memory.  .  I  always 
call  it  a  fatal  gift  in  youth,  as  in  most  cases  it  is 
made  use  of  at  the  expense  of  the  free  and  full  de- 
velopment of  the  understanding  and  reasoning 
powers.  This  fact  will  be  patent  to  all  who  ob- 
serve and  think. 

Memory,  though  a  splendid  gift,  is  apt  to  do 
away  with  the  necessity  of  intellectual  exertion, 
as  wealth  only  too  often  supplants  the  need  and 
destroys  the  desire  for  work  of  any  description. 


97 


i  Donde  te  escondes,  Violeta  bella  ? 

i  For  que  asi  esquivas  mirar  la  luz  ? 
Tu  que  no  puedes  vivir  sin  ella. 

i  Buscas  de  sombras  dense  capuz  ? 

Sal,  florecilla,  lanza  al  ambiente 

Tu  grata  esencia,  tu  dulce  olor ; 
Deja  que  el  lirio  te  bese  ardiente, 

Te  brinde  puro  su  casto  amor. 

Torres  Caicedo. 

Beautiful  Violet,  where  art  thou  hiding? 

"Why  dost  thou  shun  to  look  out  on  the  light  ? 
Thou,  who  thy  life  to  the  sun  art  confiding, 

Seek'st  thou  by  day  the  concealment  of  night  ? 

Flow'ret,  come  out  and  distil  on  the  sunbeam 
Thy  delicate  fragrance,  thy  perfume  so  sweet, 

And  suffer  the  lily  to  kiss  thee  in  one  gleam 
Of  love  pure  and  chaste,  proffered  coy  at  thy  feet. 


99 


CHAPTER  X 
THE    COMING    OF    SPRING 

HE  calendar  tells  me,  as  if  it  were  an 
incontrovertible  fact,  like  the  rest  of 
the  events  it  chronicles,  that "  spring 
commences "  on  the  2ist  day  of 
March.  But  although  this  is  brought  to  my  no- 
tice as  a  fact  in  a  beautiful  garden  diary  sup- 
plied by  one  of  our  great  seedsmen,  for  the  mo- 
ment I  refuse  to  accept  it,  as  once,  some  time  ago 
on  a  sea  voyage,  after  receiving  presents  and  cele- 
brating a  day  I  had  given  out  as  my  birthday,  I 
placidly  announced  to  my  disenchanted  friends 
and  admirers  that  in  personal  matters  I  did  not 
consider  myself  bound  by  the  Gregorian  calendar. 
I  never  could  understand  what  difference  it 
might  make  to  them  whether  my  birthday  was 
on  one  date  or  another,  according  to  their  particu- 
lar mode  of  reckoning ;  but  it  evidently  did  make 
a  difference,  and  I  took  their  interest  in  such  a 
101 


detail  concernijng  my.  first  appearance  on  this  sub- 
Juhgry  sphere-' as:a;  great  compliment.  I  hope  they 
will  not  be  annoyed,  but  will  evince  an  equal 
concern  in  my  affairs,  when  I  now  pronounce  a 
similar  repudiation  of  an  accepted  astronomical 
item  recorded  in  the  calendars  of  most  civilized 
nations. 

In  my  garden  I  wish  to  consider  that  spring 
set  in  on  the  7th  of  March.  In  so  far  as  the  birds 
are  concerned  it  might  have  begun  in  the  middle 
of  January,  for  many  of  them  have  been  singing 
since  then.  Indeed,  the  larks  in  the  neighboring 
fields  have  hardly  ceased  to  fill  the  air  with  their 
music  all  the  winter.  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
have  never  crossed  the  meadows  without  hear- 
ing them,  and  I  have  watched  them  and  lis- 
tened to  their  songs  even  in  the  midst  of  a  snow- 
storm. 

On  the  yth  and  the  few  days  which  have  elapsed 
since,  the  garden,  in  comparison  with  winter,  has 
looked  quite  gay  with  its  long  fringes  and  clumps 
of  crocuses,  snowdrops,  violets,  and  hepaticas  in 
full  bloom,  and  it  is  quite  clear  the  winter  slumber 
is  over,  and  the  hope  sown  in  autumn  has  devel- 
102 


Coming  of 


oped  into  full-fledged  expectation.  The  first 
primroses,  chionodoxas,  and  polyanthus  are  also 
in  flower,  whilst  the  rhododendrons,  azaleas, 
cherries,  the  older  anemones,  daffodils,  and  other 
trees  and  bulbs  have  pushed  out  their  healthy 
flower-buds.  Many  of  the  irises,  hyacinths,  tulips, 
narcissus,  delphiniums,  campanulas,  sweet-will- 
iams, Canterbury  bells,  and  pansies  show  vig- 
orous new  growth;  and  the  leaf  -buds  have 
swollen  and  are  opening  on  roses,  honeysuckle, 
Billy  Button,  clematis,  lilacs,  and  others.  The 
hawthorn  will  soon  be  ready  to  burst,  and  on  one 
patch  of  hedge,  which  is  always  the  earliest,  the 
buds  are  unfolding  into  little  fresh  green  leaves. 
The  crimson  ramblers  are  covered  with  new  ver- 
dure, and  the  protected  seedlings  of  annuals  are 
giving  promise  in  thousands.  The  early  sweet- 
peas  have  braved  the  winter,  by  the  aid  of  a  little 
protecting  straw,  are  two  to  three  inches  above 
ground,  and  have  been  "  sticked." 

If  all  this,  when  I  am  now  writing  on  the  loth 

of  March,  is  not  stronger  evidence  than  the  bald 

and  unsupported  statement  that  "  spring   com- 

mences "  on  the  2ist  of  March,  may  some  of  my 

103 


dffar&ett 


buds  be  cut  off  by  late  frosts — as  they  probably 
will  be. 

The  Spring  has  come!  The  buds  peep  out 
To  see  "God's  lidless  eye"  again, 

To  feel  the  glow  its  glory  sheds 
In  quickened  sprout,  from  root  and  grain. 

Each  bulb  and  stalk  puts  forth  its  bloom 

At  mandate  of  that  orb  sublime, 
Whose  mighty  gaze  draws  out  their  blush 

And  keeps  them  flaming  all  the  time. 

But  modesty  and  homage  too 

In  shrub  and  timber  neither  fail: 
Their  limbs  bared  in  the  winter's  blast 

With  soft  green  mantle  now  the  veil. 

Thus  may  we  learn  from  tree  and  root 

Our  inward  squalor  to  entomb, 
And  let  Spring  bud  within  our  hearts 

To  bring  forth  grace  in  bounteous  bloom. 

I  wish  I  were  an  artist  in  words,  as  Pierre 
Loti,  for  instance,  to  paint  the  beauties  of  the 
awakening  of  vegetable  nature  and  the  aspects 
of  the  landscape  in  spring  as  he  depicts  the 
scenes  he  visits  in  his  Japonneries  d'  Automne. 
No  landscape  ever  idealized  on  canvas  can,  to  my 
104 


Coming  of 


thinking,  approach  the  realities  one  can  see  daily 
a  thousand-fold  in  garden,  wood,  and  stream; 
and  it  is  for  this  reason  that  I  always  prefer  life- 
like pictures  of  figures,  in  which  phases  of  char- 
acter, beauty,  emotion,  and  passion  may  more 
easily  be,  and  sometimes  are,  transcended. 

I  am  aware  the  expression  of  such  views  may 
be  assailed  from  many  quarters  ;  but  my  tastes  are 
unorthodox  and  I  do  not  even  play  ping-pong  or 
seek  pleasure  in  shooting  birds. 

After  all,  beauty  is  a  thing  that  is  felt  more  by 
those  "  qui  se  savourent  en  silence,"  than  by  those 
who  break  out  into  facile  ecstasy  and  gush.  And 
beauty  is  without  doubt  only  really  appreciated 
where  it  is  deeply  felt  and  penetrates  the  whole 
being.  The  mere  seeing  of  beauty  as  compared 
with  the  deep  sensation  of  silent  and  expression- 
less emotion  it  creates,  is  rather  like  comparing 
the  practical  view  of  one  person,  that  the  sky 
looked  as  if  it  had  "  had  a  mustard  plaster  on  it  " 
and  the  sea  "like  mutton  gravy  getting  cold," 
with  the  speechless  rapture  pervading  the  inmost 
senses  of  another  in  keen  appreciation  of  a  glori- 
ous sunset  reflected  upon  the  waters. 
105 


I  always  remember  how  I  used  to  resent  such 
an  intrusion  upon  my  esthetic  conviction  as  a 
remark  that  my  little  children  were  beautiful. 
That  such  an  observation  should  be  made  to  me 
who  felt  their  loveliness  far  deeper  than  any  casual 
comer  possibly  could,  seemed  to  me  like  an  insult 
to  my  intelligence  and  an  outrage  upon  my  most 
hallowed  perceptions.  No  doubt  others  experi- 
ence like  sensations  in  similar  circumstances,  and 
this  being  the  case,  we  may  derive  therefrom  the 
moral  that  it  is  desirable  to  exercise  great  circum- 
spection in  our  approach,  even  in  commendation, 
upon  whatever  may  appertain  to  the  intimate  spir- 
itual domain  of  others. 

I  am  afraid  if  I  had  put  my  thoughts  into  words 
under  the  provocation  to  which  I  have  alluded, 
they  might  have  taken  some  such  form  as :  "  You 
idiot !  Do  you  think  I  do  not  feel  what  you  only 
see  ?  "  This  may  sound  very  ungraceful  and  un- 
gracious; but  one's  thoughts  are  not  under  the 
same  control  as  their  expression. 

In  the  autumn  I  planted  a  wistaria  against  the 
stem  of  a  tall  ash  and  another  one  by  itself  in  the 
paddock,  where  I  want  to  see  if  I  can  train  it  into 
1 06 


Coming  of 


a  standard,  or  at  least  into  a  canopy  with  one 
strong  central  stem.  This  will  of  course  require 
stiffening  support  for  some  time  to  come,  and  the 
branches  or  shoots  which  will  eventually  be  al- 
lowed to  grow  out  at  the  top  will  no  doubt  want 
some  umbrella  or  tent-shaped  frame  to  hold 
them  up. 

Several  Clematis  Montana  have  also  been  put  in, 
one  of  which  is  likewise  against  a  tree  and  an- 
other against  a  wall,  whence  it  can  climb  on  to  an 
old  yew,  which  it  shows  every  intention  of  doing 
with  spirit  and  thoroughness.  A  Clematis  Henryi, 
a  C.  Flammula,  and  a  C.  Coccinea  are  being  grown 
on  poles  and,  as  they  are  all  shooting  up  vigorous- 
ly, I  hope  they  will  make  some  show  even  this 
year. 

The  days  are  getting  so  much  longer  and  the 
temperature  is  so  mild  that  one  can  enjoy  more 
of  the  fresh  air  out  of  the  house,  which  is  of  im- 
portance. Indeed,  I  always  think  that  fresh  air 
is  even  of  greater  value  to  our  health  than  good 
food,  since  we  nourish  our  blood  with  it  at  every 
breath  we  draw.  What  a  difference  it  must  make, 
therefore,  to  our  well-being  if  we  habitually 
107 


breathe  good,  pure  air.  There  seem,  however,  to 
be  many  people,  to  judge  by  the  manner  in  which 
they  shut  themselves  up  in  their  houses  and  in 
railway  carriages,  who  flourish,  or  at  least  get 
along  creditably,  in  an  atmosphere  of  carbonic 
acid  which  makes  me  feel  faint  and  sick. 


108 


Es  reden  und  trauemen  die  Menschen  viel 

Von  besseren  kiinftigen  Tagen, 
Nach  einem  gluecklichen  gold'nen  Ziel 

Sicht  man  sie  rennen  und  jagen, 
Die  Welt  wird  alt  und  wird  wieder  Jung, 
Doch  der  Mensch  hofft  immer  Verbesserung. 

Schiller. 

Men  talk  by  day  and  dream  by  night 

Of  future  better  days  in  store, 
And  toward  a  happier  golden  height 

Their  muscles  strive,  their  spirits  soar, 
The  world  grows  old  and  young  again, 
Man's  hope  fixed  on  a  higher  plane. 


109 


CHAPTER  XI 
BLOSSOMS 


T  occurs  to  me  every  now  and  then 
whilst  writing  these  "  reflections " 
that  some  of  them  may  possibly 
hurt  the  feelings  of,  offend,  or  be 
deplored  by  some  of  my  friends  whose  views  of 
humanity  and  its  destiny,  of  life  with  its  ethics 
and  morals,  and  of  the  relative  positions  of  re- 
ligion and  evolution  differ  from  mine.  In  such 
matters,  however,  if  I  set  down  anything  at  all, 
and  I  have  proposed  myself  to  indite  whatever 
reflections  suggest  themselves  to  my  mind,  I  must 
say  truthfully  what  I  think. 

The  militant  missionary  spirit  is  not  in  me  and 
I  am  neither  seeking  to  make  converts  nor  to  dis- 
turb the  faith  that  is  in  any  one,  but  I  give  way  to 
none  in  the  recognition  of  the  incalculable  benefit, 
sometimes  to  the  individual  and  always  to  the 
race,  of  striving  after  an  ideal.  The  particular 
in 


temperament,  however,  which  strives  after  a  high 
ideal,  be  this  ever  so  imaginative,  illusive,  or  im- 
possible, it  seems  to  me  is  just  as  much  the  out- 
come and  instrument  of  evolution  as  is  the  more 
practical  impulse  of  the  struggle  for  food,  pro- 
tection, and  the  necessities  of  life  generally,  all 
of  which  serve  the  great  object  of  preserving  and 
improving  the  species. 

I  am  quite  prepared  to  find  that  many  take 
what  they  may  call  a  "  higher  "  view ;  but  I  must 
confess  that  to  me  nothing  seems  more  magnifi- 
cent and  sublime  than  the  inexorable  and,  what 
astronomers  and  geologists  would  term,  "  sec- 
ular "  processes  which  have  been  elaborating  the 
great  scheme  of  constructive  evolution  from  all 
eternity,  on  to  an  infinite  future  into  which  our 
limited  and  finite  vision  is  powerless  to  penetrate, 
even  in  speculation. 

Of  one  thing  I  feel  sure  and  upon  it  I  have  no 
misgivings.  It  is  that  nothing  I  may  say  can  en- 
danger the  truth.  The  truth  must  always  stand, 
however  it  may  be  assailed. 

When  the  divinity  student  said  that  in  free  dis- 
cussion there  was  danger  to  truth,  the  professor 

JI2 


replied :  "  I  didn't  know  Truth  was  such  an  in- 
valid. Truth  is  tough.  It  will  not  break,  like  a 
bubble  at  a  touch ;  nay,  you  may  kick  it  about  all 
day,  like  a  football,  and  it  will  be  round  and  full  at 
evening.  Does  not  Mr.  Bryant  say  that  Truth  gets 
well  if  she  is  run  over  by  a  locomotive,  while  Error 
dies  of  lockjaw  if  she  scratches  her  finger?  I 
never  heard  that  a  mathematician  was  alarmed  for 
the  safety  of  a  demonstrated  proposition.  I  think, 
generally,  that  fear  of  open  discussion  implies 
feebleness  of  inward  conviction,  and  great  sensi- 
tiveness to  the  expression  of  individual  opinion  is 
a  mark  of  weakness." 

With  this  statement  before  me  I  shall  not  fear 
that  either  Truth  or  my  friends  can  be  injured  by 
any  views  I  may  give  expression  to. 

I  just  referred  to  the  immense  advantage  of 
striving  after  an  ideal,  and  when  I  advanced  that 
proposition  I  did  not  intend  to  limit  the  ideal  in 
any  way.  It  may  be  an  ideal  of  moral,  intellectual, 
artistic,  physical,  industrial,  or  any  other  excel- 
lence, and  it  may  appertain  to  the  natural  ephem- 
eral life  of  the  individual  or  to  the  eternal  life 
he  expects  or  firmly  believes  he  will  embark  upon 
8  113 


hereafter.  I  only  wish  to  submit  that  the  hope 
of  attaining  such  an  ideal  would  equally  appear 
to  be  one  of  the  favored  instruments  whereby  the 
glorious  design  of  evolution  accomplishes  its  ob- 
jects. Hope,  like  other  inspirations,  has  been 
evolved  and  developed  in  us  as  an  aid  to  our  ad- 
vancement. 

Die  Hoffnung  fuchrt  ihn  in's  Leben  ein, 

Sie  umflattert  den  froelichen  Knaben, 

Den  Juengling  bezaubert  ihr  Geisterschein, 

Sie  wird  mit  dem  Greis  nicht  begraben; 

Denn  beschliesst  er  im  grabe  den  miiden  Lauf, 

Noch  am  Grabe  pflanzt  er  die  Hoffnung  auf. 

Hope  enters  with  him  into  life 
And  flutters  round  the  joyous  child ; 
Its  charm  sustains  the  youth  in  strife 
And  with  old  age  is  reconciled, 
For  loosed  in  death  the  weary  bond, 
The  grave  rears  hope  of  things  beyond. 

A  change  of  scene  has  now  come  over  the  gar- 
den. April  has  just  passed  and  brought  new  and 
enchanting  developments  in  its  train.  The  cro- 
cuses, hepaticas,  and  snowdrops  have  long  gone 
to  their  rest,  and  even  all  the  hyacinths  and  earlier 
daffodils  are  over.  The  beds  and  foot  of  the  long 
114 


hedge  are  gay  with  wall-flowers,  polyanthus,  for- 
get-me-nots, primroses,  and  anemones  of  many 
colors,  white,  blue,  violet,  purple,  pink,  scarlet, 
and  lake  red ;  while  in  all  parts  of  the  garden  there 
are  tulips  and  large  pansies  in  flower  of  the  rich- 
est hues  and  combinations.  The  cherry  blossom 
has  been  glorious,  especially  two  very  large  trees, 
so  densely  clothed  in  purest  white  that  they 
looked  as  if  they  were  covered  with  a  thick  mantle 
of  snow.  The  first  pears  have  shed  their  petals. 
They  were  the  most  forward  in  bud  among  the 
fruit-trees,  and  my  gardener,  remarking  upon  it, 
said :  "  That's  the  worst  of  pears ;  a  few  fine  days 
tempt  them  beyond  all  bounds."  This  seems 
somewhat  like  a  vegetable  illustration  of  my 
proposition  that  temptation  is  made  to  be  fallen 
into. 

The  apples  are  of  course  beautiful  and  this  is  a 
fat  year  of  blossoms  following  upon  a  lean  one. 
Many  trees  are  in  full  bloom  and  there  are  others 
to  come. 

All  the  foliage  trees  and  shrubs  are  clothed  in 
tender  verdure  and  only  the  ash,  walnut,  and  the 
cautious  mulberry  lag  behind.  The  last  of  these 


never  exposes  his  leaves  to  the  remotest  risk  of 
night  frost  in  spring,  and  sheds  them  before  his 
neighbors  evince  any  fear  of  the  chills  of  autumn. 
A  short  time  ago  it  looked  as  if  the  ash  would 
come  out  before  the  oak ;  but  our  sturdy  and  "  an- 
cient friend "  has  caught  him  up  and,  covered 
with  fresh  amber-green  foliage,  has  left  him  far 
behind  and  only  just  beginning  to  put  out  his 
little  flower-tufts.  If  old  country  sayings  are  to 
be  relied  upon,  we  shall  have  a  dry  summer,  as 
we  have  certainly  had  a  dry  April. 

When  the  oak's  before  the  ash 
There  will  be  a  little  splash ; 
When  the  ash  before  the  oak 
There  will  be  a  heavy  soak. 

The  pink  flowering  currant  and  the  yellow  ber- 
beris  have  been  coloring  the  shrubberies  and  a 
mauve  pink  rhododendron  is  gay  with  profuse 
bloom. 

On  the  1 8th  of  April  I  found  that  a  large  Gloire 

de  Dijon,  or  "  Glor  de  Dye  John,"  as  I  frequently 

hear  it  called,  on  the  south  wall  of  the  house,  not 

only  had  a  number  of  well-developed  buds  upon  it, 

116 


TBlO&fotttg 


but  also  that  these  were  covered  with  aphides, 
which  I  promptly  brushed  off  where  I  could 
reach  them.  This  noxious  little  insect,  however, 
always  interests  me,  as  it  constitutes  the  herds 
of  liliputian  cattle  tended  and  milked  by  some 
species  of  ants,  and,  more  interesting  still,  fur- 
nishes one  of  the  examples  in  the  animal  king- 
dom of  parthenogenesis,  or  virginal  reproduction, 
among  its  various  methods  of  procreation. 

I  am  glad  to  say  the  nightingale  has  returned, 
though  he  has  not  yet  established  himself  perma- 
nently for  a  nightly  serenade,  as  I  hope  he  will  a 
little  later  on.  The  cuckoo,  however,  does  not 
cease  to  call  from  early  morn  till  evening,  and  his 
"  pint "  and  his  flower,  Ladies'  smock,  came  with 
him  in  the  hedgerows  and  meadows.  The  ap- 
pearance of  flies  .and  wasps  also  denotes  the 
change  of  season. 

My  flowers  in  the  grass  have  in  part  been  a  great 
joy,  especially  the  snowdrops,  crocuses,  scillas, 
and  daffodils.  Some  of  the  fritillaries  and  a  few 
dog-violets  have  also  come  up;  but  the  chiono- 
doxas,  tulipa  sylvestris,  and  anemone  appenina  have 
done  no  good.  On  the  other  hand,  common  tulips 
117 


and  hyacinths  put  in  the  grass  their  second  year 
have  flowered  well,  the  spikes  of  the  hyacinths, 
both  in  beds  and  in  the  grass,  being  as  fine  as  they 
were  the  first  year.  Some  tulips  left  in  a  bed, 
rather  deep,  a  number  of  years  ago,  have  sent  up 
a  bunch  of  flowers  regularly  each  of  the  four 
springs  I  have  now  been  here,  and  some  hyacinths 
left  undisturbed  have  flowered  better  their  third 
year  than  when  forced  their  first  season. 

My  Gladioli  Colvillei,  which  were  well  estab- 
lished and  I  thought  quite  hardy,  had  early  in 
February  thrown  up  an  abundance  of  leaves, 
showing  how  well  they  were  thriving.  Being 
assured  the  cold  would  not  hurt  them,  they  were 
left  unprotected,  with  the  result  that  the  severe 
frosts  between  the  loth  and  igth  of  February  cut 
them  all  down,  and  it  is  now,  I  fear,  evident  that 
they  are  not  going  to  grow  again.  The  less  for- 
ward ones  newly  planted  in  the  autumn  are  safe. 

On  one  of  my  garden  paths  which  is  lined  with 
box  some  stray  violets  have  become  entwined  in 
the  stems  of  the  box,  and  in  that  position  have 
flowered  profusely,  so  that  a  few  yards  of  the  path 
have  been  lined  with  a  neat  edging  of  violets. 
118 


The  effect  is  so  attractive  that  at  the  proper  time 
I  mean  to  extend  it  along  both  sides  of  the  walk. 
The  marsh-marigolds  on  the  margin  of  "  The 
Drain  "  are  flowering  profusely,  and  the  meadow- 
sweet, of  which  I  scattered  seed  two  years  ago, 
are  growing  so  strong  that  they  promise  an 
abundant  harvest. 


119 


Diese  graue  Wolkenschaar 

Stieg  aus  einem  Meer  von  Preuden ; 

Heute  muss  ich  dafur  leiden 
Das  ich  gestern  glucklich  war. 

Heine. 

These  gray,  sombrous  clouds  that  soar 
Rose  up  from  a  sea  of  gladness ; 
And  to-day  I'm  plunged  in  sadness 

As  I  was  content  before. 


121 


CHAPTER  XII 
SUGGESTIONS 

are  now  on  the  threshold  of  the 
last  week  in  May,  and  meteoro- 
logical experts  say  that  the  tem- 
perature has  been  lower  so  far 
during  this  "merry"  month  than  for  sixty-one 
years  past.  For  my  garden  I  regret  it  and  would 
gladly  see  my  plants  and  trees  enjoying  some 
warmth  and  sunshine,  though  for  myself  and  my 
own  comfort,  or  discomfort,  I  accept  the  weather 
as  it  comes.  The  weather  itself  only  seriously 
affects  me,  apart  from  solicitude  for  my  surround- 
ings, when  the  atmosphere  is  charged  with  elec- 
tricity and  there  is  "  thunder  in  the  air,"  which 
always  depresses  me  terribly  and  fills  me  with  a 
vague  and  unreasoning  sense  of  undefined  im- 
pending disaster. 

It  has  been  prognosticated  that  this  weather  is 
to  last  well  into  June ;  but  at  the  moment  I  am  out 
123 


d&ar&en 


of  temper  and  bear  in  mind  that  scientific  experts 
who  examined  Mont  Pelee  the  day  before  its  erup- 
tion gave  assurances  that  there  was  no  danger  to 
be  apprehended.  I  also  can  not  help  thinking  that 
probably  the  same  person  who  classified  lies  into 
lies,  d — d  lies,  and  statistics,  must  have  tabulated 
liars  of  varying  degrees  into  liars,  d — d  liars,  and 
scientific  experts.  But,  as  already  said,  I  am  out 
of  humor,  perhaps  more  with  the  income-tax  col- 
lector than  the  weather,  and  "across  the  barren 
desert  of  my  brain  there  strays  not  even  the 
starved  camel  of  an  idea." 

At  present  I  am  looking  at  things  with  what 
may  be  called  a  jaundiced  eye,  and  the  prepara- 
tions which  are  going  on  for  the  coming  corona- 
tion, the  occupation  of  the  Lord  Chancellor  hear- 
ing and  deciding  claims  from  the  high  and  mighty 
to  perform  menial  services,  the  defacement  of 
Westminster  Abbey  and  other  churches  and  ven- 
erable public  buildings  with  hoardings  for  sight- 
seers, the  bacchanalian  celebration  of  "Hog- 
manay Night"  a  short  time  ago,  the  sight  of  a 
British  funeral  with  its  ghastly  nodding  plumes 
and  hired  mourners,  all  parade  themselves  before 
124 


my  disordered  vision  and  make  me  wonder 
whether  the  community  I  belong  to  is  really  an 
enlightened  and  civilized  one.  The  coronation 
and  the  grotesqueness  of  its  pageants  makes  me 
reflect  how  the  gods  must  laugh,  if  their  exer- 
cising any  such  human  attribute  is  conceivable, 
to  see  poor  humanity,  who  can  not  add  a  cubit  to 
its  stature,  a  day  to  its  life,  or  control  even  any  of 
the  local  physical  forces  which  constantly  threaten 
its  very  existence,  masquerading  and  strutting 
about  in  its  borrowed,  or  purchased,  plumes.  And 
yet,  though  I  may  not  join  in  the  festivities,  I  do 
not  feel,  as  perhaps  I  should,  "  like  the  puddle  that 
was  proud  of  standing  alone  while  the  river 
rushed  by."  In  my  present  frame  of  mind  the 
celebration  of  events  or  commemorations  by 
means  of  feasts  and  balls  reminds  me  of  the 
Saturnalia  of  ancient  days,  from  which  some  of 
them  differ  only  in  degree;  and  as  for  a  funeral, 
I  can  call  to  mind  no  savage  rite  among  the  many 
I  have  witnessed  more  humiliating  to  our  vaunted 
enlightenment  than  a  burial  ordinance  of  the  type 
I  refer  to.  It  seems  clear  that  many  of  our  rites 
and  celebrations  differ  only  in  degree  from  those 
125 


belonging  to  stages  of  civilization  which  we  de- 
spise. Sartor  resartus!  Shorn  of  our  conven- 
tional outer  garb,  what  are  we  ?  That  is  the  ques- 
tion we  should  put  to  ourselves.  Let  us  by  all 
means  do  what  we  like  and  enjoy  ourselves  in  any 
of  the  conventional  ways  we  please ;  but  let  us  not 
arrogate  to  ourselves  the  pride  of  superiority  be- 
cause our  habits  of  convention  differ  a  little  from 
those  of  other  classes  and  races. 

Talking  of  the  weather  recalls  to  my  mind  that 
some  years  ago  by  the  conditions  of  a  postal  con- 
tract service  with  a  great  government,  which  shall 
be  nameless,  the  contractor  was  held  responsible 
for  delays  caused  not  only  by  failures  or  break- 
downs of  machinery  and  matters  of  possible  hu- 
man control,  but  also  for  stress  of  weather  and 
dense  fogs,  in  which  all  locomotion  became  im- 
possible. Of  course,  for  adequate  payment  the 
risk  of  penalties  arising  from  even  uncontrollable 
causes  might  have  been  submitted  to.  But 
though  the  remuneration  was  less  than  bare  the 
government  remained  immovable  on  the  matter 
of  human  responsibility  for  the  weather  and  "  acts 
of  God,"  and  the  obnoxious  clause  was  not  ex- 
126 


punged  until  it  was  formally  represented  that 
however  flattering  it  might  be  to  the  contractors 
that  the  powers  of  the  Almighty  should  be  attrib- 
uted to  them,  they  must  humbly  decline  to  as- 
sume the  responsibility  of  exercising  such  exalted 
functions.  This  argument  actually  severed  a 
strand  of  official  red  tape ;  but  who  of  us,  in  any 
walk  of  life,  is  there  who  is  not  bound  up  in  the 
red  tape  of  convention? 

What,  however,  has  red  tape  to  do  with  garden- 
ing? To  which  question  I  may  answer — a  great 
deal ;  since  horticulture  has  at  all  times  been  and 
is  now  still  to  a  great  extent  the  slave  of  fashion 
and  convention. 

Returning  to  my  own  little  gardening  pursuits, 
I  have  acquired  a  number  of  plants,  tubers,  and 
roots  of  the  Flame  Nasturtium,  Tropoeolum 
speciosum,  which  I  am  anxious  to  grow.  The  form 
in  which  it  was  supplied  to  me  varied.  One  nurs- 
eryman sent  me  growing  plants  in  pots,  another 
fine,  healthy-looking  tubers  as  large  as  a  small 
hen's  egg,  and  a  third  supplied  a  lot  of  long,  thin, 
white  roots.  The  instructions  for  planting  which 
I  have  read  are  still  more  numerous  and  diverse. 
127 


The  first  of  these  is  interesting,  so  I  transcribe  it 
for  the  benefit  of  my  readers : 

"T.  speciosum  (Flame  Nasturtium). 

"  A  Chilian  climber. 

"  Flowers  June  to  September- October. 

"  Best  in  light,  deep  loam,  with  the  addition  of 
peat,  leaf  soil,  and  sand.  In  summer  a  mulching 
of  well-rotted  manure  is  beneficial.  Dislikes  a 
scorching  hot  position — should  be  planted  in  a 
somewhat  shaded  place  where  there  is  plenty  of 
moisture  in  the  air,  such  as  against  bushes  or 
hedges,  with  a  west  or  northern  aspect.  Plant 
tubers  in  April  or  May — plants  may  be  allowed  to 
take  care  of  themselves.  If  coddled  too  much  are 
likely  to  be  a  failure,  but  so  long  as  the  soil  is  well 
drained  and  fairly  good  and  the  position  partially 
shaded  and  not  too  cold,  the  plants  will  sooner  or 
later  establish  themselves. 

"  In  the  south  it  is  almost  impossible  to  estab- 
lish it  exposed  to  the  full  rays  of  the  sun.  A 
quantity  of  roots  were  placed  in  holes  at  the  foot 
of  a  spreading  young  yew-tree,  the  soil  not  being 
disturbed  farther  than  was  necessary  for  covering 
the  roots.  For  a  couple  of  years  these  did 
128 


nothing,  but  in  the  third  year  a  vivid  splash  of 
vermilion  on  one  of  the  branches  of  the  yew 
showed  that  the  plants  were  thriving,  and  they 
have  since  garlanded  the  dark  foliage  of  the  yew 
with  an  opulence  of  color  that  yearly  increases 
in  extent. 

"  Meanwhile,  the  plants  which  had  been  put  in 
carefully  selected  situations  and  well  looked  after, 
perished." 

My  first  plants  were  put  in  nearly  two  years 
ago  in  accordance  with  these  directions  and  have 
since  not  been  disturbed.  I  shall  possess  my  soul 
in  patience  for  another  year  and  then  look  out 
anxiously  for  a  vivid  splash  on  the  yew  and  bushes 
under  which  the  plants  were  placed. 

With  the  tubers  and  roots  I  tried  to  follow  the 
directions  given  by  Mrs.  Earle,  who,  quoting  a 
friend,  says  that  holes  should  be  prepared  quite 
four  feet  deep  and  filled  with  leaf  mold  and  light 
earth.  The  roots,  we  are  then  told,  are  to  be 
planted  one  foot  below  the  surface,  so  that  they 
shall  have  two  feet  of  loose  soil  to  work  down 
into. 

Now  there  is  something  wrong  here,  and  the 
9  129 


arithmetic  is  clearly  at  fault.  I  can  not  follow  the 
directions  in  their  entirety,  for  if  I  make  a  hole 
four  feet  deep  and  leave  the  roots  two  feet  of  loose 
soil  to  work  down  into  they  will  be  two  feet  under 
the  surface  instead  of  one;  and  if  I  plant  them 
one  foot  under  the  surface  they  will  have  three 
feet  of  loose  earth  under  them  instead  of  two. 
Perhaps  allowance  is  made  in  the  calculation  for 
the  roots  being  a  foot  long,  which  mine  are  not, 
and  the  tubers  are  only  about  two  inches.  I  there- 
fore solved  the  problem,  especially  as  labor  is  a 
consideration  with  me,  by  making  the  holes  three 
feet  deep  and  placing  the  tubers  so  that  they  have 
one  foot  of  soil  above  them  and  two  beneath. 
They  have  been  located  in  various  likely  shady 
spots,  so  I  hope  some  of  them  will  thrive. 

The  other  day  I  sawed  a  slice  off  one  of  my 
blocks  of  the  fallen  elm  branch,  to  make  a  rustic 
table-top,  and  I  had  the  curiosity  to  count  the 
rings  in  the  cross-section.  There  were  ninety- 
four  of  them,  besides  a  homogeneous  core  of  about 
an  inch  diameter  in  the  center.  As  each  ring 
must  signify  a  year's  growth,  I  suppose,  there- 
fore, the  branch  must  be  about  a  hundred  years 
130 


old  and  the  tree  possibly  older.  I  wonder  if  there 
are  in  any  parts  of  our  bodies  some  similar  indi- 
cations of  progressive  age.  The  teeth,  I  am 
afraid,  are  very  unreliable,  nor  do  we  go  on  grow- 
ing all  our  life  in  superimposed  layers,  and  if  we 
did  the  better  half  of  humanity  would  not  ex- 
hibit cross-sections  to  general  inspection,  but 
would  doubtless  polish  and  furbish  the  outer  layer 
to  make  it  look  fresh  and  young. 

It  has  been  foretold  that  in  a  certain  number 
of  generations,  how  many  I  do  not  know,  the  hu- 
man race  will  have  no  hair  and  no  teeth,  both  be- 
coming atrophied  from  disuse  and  eventually, 
from  hidden  rudiments,  like  the  coccyx,  the  ap- 
pendix, and  the  hairy  points  to  our  ears,  vanish- 
ing altogether. 

If  these  modifications  take  place,  which  is  quite 
possible,  granted  the  unlimited  time  which  evolu- 
tionary changes  demand,  and  the  human  teeth  re- 
tire before  the  invasion  of  chemical  nourishment 
without  waste,  I  think  the  probability  has  been 
lost  sight  of  that  the  elaborate  digestive  and  other 
organs  designed  for  the  assimilation  of  large 
masses  of  miscellaneous  and  chemically  unpre- 


pared  food,  must  fall  into  disuse  and  vanish  also. 
The  necessary  corollary  will  be  a  wasp-like  waist 
and  the  gradual  but  certain  ruin  of  the  corsetiere. 
Those  who  follow  this  calling — or  should  I  say, 
pursue  this  industry? — if  they  are  wise  and  far- 
seeing,  will  be  careful  to  bring  up  their  remote 
posterity  to  some  other  trade.  This  prudent  ad- 
vice is  offered  gratis  and  in  all  friendliness  to  a 
deserving  and,  I  believe,  frequently  unremuner- 
ated  class  of  industrious  artistes. 


132 


Draussen  auf  griiner  Au 
Bliihen  viel  Blumchen  blau 
Bliihen  Vergissmeinnicht 
Bis  man  sie  bricht; 
Aber  dann  welken  sie, 
Nur  meine  Liebe  nie ; 
Wenn  auch  das  Herze  bricht 
Sie  Welket  nicht. 

Becker. 

Outside  there,  fresh  as  dew, 
Blooms  many  a  flower  blue, 
Blooms  the  forget-me-not 
Till  plucked.     Its  lot 
Then  is  to  fade  and  die. 
With  love  it  can  not  vie. 
E'en  though  all  life  is  gone, 
Love  still  lives  on. 


133 


CHAPTER  XIII 
BIRDS    AND    PHILOSOPHY 

HE  dear  little  turquoise  forget-me- 
nots  have  gone,  at  least  all  those 
that  were  planted  together  in  a  large 
round  bed,  to  make  room  for  gerani- 
ums. They  have  been  bedded  away  in  snug 
rows  to  rest  through  the  summer  heat  till  they  are 
ready  to  be  planted  out  again  in  more  conspicuous 
positions.  A  few  of  their  brethren  who  inhabit 
shady  corners  have  been  left  undisturbed,  whilst 
their  cousins,  the  water  forget-me-nots,  who  live 
on  the  margin  of  "  The  Drain,"  are  only  just  be- 
ginning to  don  their  fine  garments  for  the  season 
and  have  not  begun  to  flower  yet.  And  when  they 
do,  how  beautiful  they  are,  and  how  they  appeal 
to  pleasant  associations  and  reminiscences !  The 
flower  is  so  unpretentious  and  yet  of  such  a  per- 
fect and  pure  color  that  it  can  not  be  overlooked 
or  passed  by  unnoticed. 

135 


The  turquoise,  like  the  forget-me-nots,  is  prized 
also  for  the  same  color,  and  the  stone  is  supposed 
to  fade,  like  the  flower.  The  turquoise  that  fades, 
however,  is  the  Egyptian  variety,  which  is  said  to 
be  composed  of  petrified  bone.  The  true  tur- 
quoise from  Persia  and  Tibet,  which  is  a  differ- 
ent mineral,  does  not  lose  its  color  or  become 
paler. 

Another  attractive  little  flower  which  consoles 
me  for  the  loss  of  the  bed  of  forget-me-nots  is  the 
speedwell,  or  bird's-eye,  as  it  is  called  in  these 
parts.  In  the  paddock  and  along  a  bank  at  the 
roadside  not  far  from  my  gate  there  are  large 
patches  and  masses  densely  packed  with  its  vivid 
azure  flowers,  each  one  certainly  looking  very 
much  like  a  pure  blue  eye. 

The  white  hawthorn  has  only  just  saved  its 
reputation  and  its  flowering  before  May  is  out, 
and  the  lilacs  and  Dutch  honeysuckles  are  cov- 
ered with  sweet-scented  bloom-masses.  Another 
shrub  which  fills  the  air  with  its  perfume  is  the 
pale  yellow  azalea,  of  which  there  are  a  number 
of  fine  large  old  bushes  in  the  garden.  Those  in 
the  more  exposed  positions,  however,  are  in  poor- 
136 


anD 


er  condition  than  usual,  many  of  the  most  ad- 
vanced flower-buds  having  been  injured  by  the 
late  frosts.  Some  of  the  earlier  rhododendrons 
are  also  in  flower;  but  the  guelder-rose  is  very 
late,  fully  a  month  behind  last  year. 

The  country  is  beautiful  in  its  luxuriant  fresh 
green  clothing,  and  even  the  vegetation  at  the 
roadside  is  not  tarnished  by  dust.  Many  of  the 
meadows  are  bright  golden  sheets  of  buttercups, 
and  the  abundant  rain  has  made  the  f ool's-parsley 
run  riot.  I  find  it  lasts  in  water  and  looks  well  if 
large  bunches  are  grouped  together  in  a  good- 
sized  vase  or  jar.  In  a  shady  corner  of  the  pad- 
dock the  plants  are  of  enormous  size  and  density 
and  are  fully  four  feet  high. 

Besides  the  forget-me-nots,  the  polyanthus,  and 
most  of  the  pansies,  as  space  is  deficient,  have 
been  put  away;  and  the  latter,  still  in  vigorous 
growth  owing  to  the  generous  moisture  of  the 
soil,  continue  flowering  in  a  profusion  of  rich 
and  gay  colors.  These  rows  of  plants,  which  do 
not  show  a  sign  of  somnolence,  remind  me  of  live- 
ly children  who  have  been  put  into  bed  too  early 
and  can  not  go  to  sleep. 

137 


The  birds  all  seem  very  happy;  but  I  expect 
they  do  not  realize  that  there  will  not  be  any 
cherries  for  them.  They  usually  have  such  an 
unlimited  supply  from  several  large  trees  that  I 
fear  it  will  be  a  bitter  disappointment  when  they 
find  no  fruit,  almost  all  the  blossoms  having  "gone 
blind,"  owing  to  the  cold  weather  during  the  first 
half  of  the  month.  The  ground  is  now  thickly 
strewn  with  the  flower-stalks.  It  seems  very  hard 
that  our  beautiful  songsters  should  have  to  sing 
in  vain  and  be  deprived  of  their  most  cherished 
"  price  of  the  orchestra." 

The  starlings  usually  build  in  a  greenhouse 
chimney  and  in  the  hollow  of  a  very  old  mulberry 
stem.  This  year  they  have  raised  a  brood  in  an  old 
hothouse  boiler-pipe,  three  of  which  pipes  form  a 
very  stalwart  tripod  some  eight  or  nine  feet  above 
the  ground,  and  upon  which  I  am  growing  three 
strong  climbing  roses.  These  are  to  be  trained 
up  the  center  through  a  triangle  at  the  top, 
whence  they  can  fall  down  and  rampage  at  their 
own  sweet  will  without  fear  of  breaking  down 
their  support.  It  is  not  a  sightly  object  at  present 
and  invariably  calls  forth  inquiry  and  comment 

138 


anti 


from  my  visitors.  As  it  looks  rather  like  the  erec- 
tion of  a  pit-head,  I  call  it  the  "  Kent  Colliery." 
My  theory  is  that  usually,  when  climbing  roses 
have  attained  their  best  growth  on  a  support  on 
the  open  lawn,  the  support  gives  way  and  what 
might  be  an  object  of  great  beauty  is  spoilt  at  its 
best  stage  of  development.  My  tripod  will  not 
collapse  or  topple  over  in  a  gale  of  wind,  even  with 
a  ton  of  rose  branches  hanging  down  from  it.  It 
is  no  doubt  an  eyesore  now;  but  I  shall  triumph 
over  scoffers  when  it  braves  the  elements  smoth- 
ered in  a  heavy  cataract  of  roses. 

But  I  have  wandered  away  from  the  starlings. 
They  have  also  laid  eggs  and  are  rearing  a  brood 
in  a  compartment  of  one  of  the  pigeon-houses. 
As  the  pigeons  are  always  fighting  among  them- 
selves and  turn  each  other  out  of  these  compart- 
ments, I  do  not  understand  how  they  have  come 
to  let  such  intruders  in.  But  they  have,  and  one 
of  the  hostesses  takes  an  occasional  turn  at  sitting 
on  the  starling's  eggs  for  her.  It  is  evident,  there- 
fore, that  my  pigeons,  in  spite  of  domestic  differ- 
ences and  brawls,  are  hospitable  to  strangers,  like 
many  human  beings. 

139 


A  great  many  new-fledged  linnets  are  leaving 
their  nests  in  the  shrubs  and  there  seem  to  be 
more  young  robins  about  since  the  cat  has  dis- 
appeared. The  wood-pigeon  coos  softly  and  the 
song  of  the  blackbird  and  the  thrush  cause  the 
surrounding  atmosphere  to  vibrate  in  soothing 
pulsations.  The  dainty  little  wagtail  darts  about 
the  lawn  impelled  by  the  rapid  running  motion 
of  his  little  feet,  and  on  the  fields  he  follows  the 
harrow  in  the  same  perky,  fascinating  way. 

I  wonder  if  these  birds  suffer  as  we  do  from 
discontent,  that  human  attribute  which  often 
brings  upon  its  agent  so  much  unrest  and  misery, 
though  in  reality  it  is  the  fount  from  which  all  ad- 
vancement and  progress  springs?  Discontent  is 
generally  condemned,  and  yet  without  it  the 
mainspring  by  which  we  always  move  onward 
would  be  wanting.  There  would  be  no  improve- 
ment or  reform  if  we  were  all  content  to  remain 
as  we  are  and  were  satisfied  with  our  surround- 
ings, devoid  of  ambition.  The  restless  dissatis- 
faction and  desire  for  change  are  implanted  in  us 
to  work  our  own  advancement ;  and  the  contented 
spirit,  however  much  we  may  admire  and  envy 
140 


ana 


it  the  peace  and  resignation  it  brings,  is  not  a 
product  of  the  selection  of  the  fittest  to  lead  us 
on  to  the  goal  of  our  destiny. 

All  the  same,  there  is  little  fortitude  or  heroism 
in  taking  every  opportunity  to  air  one's  discon- 
tent openly  when  no  special  object  of  direct  ad- 
vancement can  be  served  thereby,  especially  when 
that  discontent  is  less  with  one's  self  than  with 
the  circumstances  in  which  one  lives,  caused,  per- 
haps, or  contributed  to,  by  one's  own  short-sight- 
edness, selfishness,  and  folly.  The  discontent  of 
those  whose  objects  in  life  are  confined  to  their 
own  insatiable  craving  for  pleasure  outside  their 
natural  surroundings  is  not  the  useful  and  valu- 
able quality  I  speak  of  and  must  not  be  con- 
founded with  it. 

It  seems  easy  to  say  that  the  circumstances  sur- 
rounding us  may  be  brought  about  by  our  own 
folly,  and  so  they  may.  But  what  is  folly,  and 
what  is  wisdom,  absolute?  Is  there  any  real 
standard,  not  conditional  or  conventional,  by 
means  of  which  wisdom  and  folly  can  be  meas- 
ured, defined,  and  separated  from  one  another? 

Adherence  to  what  is  usually  called  principle 
141 


can  not  always  be  wisdom,  for  circumstances  may 
be  found  in  which  the  rigid  exercise  of  any  given 
principle  may  be  wrong,  and  merely  the  lesser  of 
two  evils.  This  being  the  case,  it  is  clear  the  wise 
course  is  not  always  the  "  right "  course,  and  here 
we  are  face  to  face  with  the  important  question: 
What  is  right  and  what  is  wrong?  which  I  do  not 
propose  to  attempt  to  answer,  at  all  events  for  the 
present. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  at  least,  that  ethics  and 
morality  are  matters  of  convenience,  and  that  the 
entire  codes  of  manners,  morals,  and  laws  have 
been  evolved  on  a  utilitarian  basis.  The  manners, 
morals,  and  laws  of  human  communities  often 
differ  very  widely  from  one  another,  thus  adding 
proof  to  their  local  conventional  origin  and 
growth.  Laws  are  of  course  merely  the  crystalli- 
zation of  convenient  and  conventional  methods 
which  have  by  gradual  progress  been  arrived  at 
for  the  mutual  protection  of  individuals  and  com- 
munities. If  the  rights  of  person  and  property 
were  violable  with  impunity  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other  would  be  safe  from  destruction  or  free 
to  work  its  own  advancement.  And  if  the  mar- 
142 


anti 


riage  laws  were  relaxed  the  proper  care  and 
bringing  up  of  the  rising  generation  would  at 
once  be  imperiled. 

Much  might  be  said  on  this  important  subject, 
but  I  am  not  going  to  allow  my  remarks  to  de- 
velop into  a  lengthy  essay  here. 

An  example  of  positive  and  absolute  evil  and 
immorality  occurs  to  me,  and  there  may  be  many 
others.  It  is  the  trade-unions,  as  many  of  them 
are  administered  at  present,  by  whose  regulations 
the  standard  of  capacity  is  deliberately  leveled 
down  to  the  lowest  grade  instead  of  being  im- 
pelled toward  the  highest  excellence.  Could  any 
human  suicidal  organization  work  on  lines  less 
moral  and  less  in  accord  with  the  priceless  impulse 
of  nature  toward  advancement  by  selection  of  the 
highest  and  the  fittest? 


143 


The  year  of  the  rose  is  brief; 
From  the  first  blade  blown  to  the  sheaf, 
From  the  thin  green  leaf  to  the  gold, 
It  has  time  to  be  sweet  and  grow  old, 
To  triumph  and  leave  not  a  leaf.    .     .     . 
Swinburne. 


10  145 


CHAPTER  XIV 
ROSES    AND    PHILOLOGY 

F  not  with  sunshine  from  the  central 
and  chief  orb  of  our  solar  system, 
June  came  in  with  the  beneficent 
sunshine  of  peace  after  a  painful  and 
protracted  war,  and  I  do  not  doubt  that  the  whole 
nation  glowed  as  I  did  with  the  satisfaction  of  re- 
lief, the  removal  of  a  heavy  oppressive  cloud,  and 
the  prospect  of  reconciliation  with  a  people  with 
whom  we  had  for  so  long  been  battling  at  such 
terrible  loss  and  suffering  on  both  sides. 

On  the  first  of  June  I  found  a  "  May  beetle,"  as 
the  Germans  call  it,  a  cockchafer,  in  the  gar- 
den, an  insect  I  had  not  seen  for  many  years.  I 
had,  however,  very  vivid  recollections  of  it  from  a 
plague  of  cockchafers  I  had  witnessed  in  Ger- 
many somewhere  about  the  year  1860.  On  that 
occasion  such  countless  numbers  appeared  that 
the  entire  district  was  literally  covered  with  them, 
147 


and  I  remember  going  out  into  the  woods  and  see- 
ing the  foliage  densely  packed  with  them,  in  many 
cases  two  or  three  deep,  so  that  the  branches  of 
the  trees  were  bent  down  and  also  frequently 
broken  by  their  weight.  The  little  street  boys 
used  to  eat  the  beetles. 

I  once  also  witnessed,  what  I  believe  is  an  un- 
common occurrence,  a  storm  of  crickets.  They 
were  suddenly  blown,  like  a  squall,  into  the  town 
in  Ecuador,  where  I  was  residing,  in  dense  masses 
and  heaped  against  the  bases  of  the  walls  like  hail- 
drifts.  They  were  carried  into  verandas  and 
open  doors  and  windows ;  and  the  houses,  where 
they  did  considerable  damage,  were  not  entirely 
free  from  them  for  a  month  or  more  afterward. 
Walking  in  the  streets,  for  some  hours  after  the 
downpour,  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  scrunching 
crickets  at  every  step. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  month  the  paddock 
looked  very  pretty  with  its  patches  of  small  blue- 
bells, purple  orchids,  speedwell,  and  a  bright  little 
vetch.  I  sowed  some  cowslip  seed  in  the  early 
spring  and  harebell  the  year  before,  but  neither 
have  come  up.  The  latter  graceful  little  flower  I 
148 


and 


have  strewn  the  seed  of  in  various  positions,  but 
without  success.  There  is  none  of  it  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  apparently  it  does  not  find  this  lo- 
cality congenial. 

Notwithstanding  the  want  of  sun  until  the  lat- 
ter half  of  the  month,  the  shrubberies  maintained 
a  good  appearance.  The  yellow  azaleas,  which 
had  had  many  of  their  buds  destroyed  by  the  late 
frosts,  seemed  to  get  a  new  lease  of  life  and 
bloomed  profusely,  whilst  the  foliage  shrubs  were 
further  set  off  by  the  unusually  excellent  flower- 
ing of  the  guelder-rose  and  rhododendrons  of 
varied  hue — white,  pale  lilac,  mauve,  scarlet,  and 
a  deep  purple  mauve,  which  recalled  to  my  mind 
the  rich,  full  tone  of  the  magnificent  Bougainvillea 
spectabilis  when  in  all  the  glory  of  its  proper  ele- 
ment. 

The  roses  are  late  this  year,  a  Gloire  de  Dijon 
on  the  south  wall  of  the  house  being  the  first. 
One  day  I  counted  on  it  one  hundred  and  eighteen 
open  and  half-open  flowers,  apart  from  many  more 
buds  to  follow. 

Reine  Marie  Henriette  on  the  "  Kent  Colliery  " 
has  had  some  flowers  of  exquisite  form  and  color, 
149 


dSattien 


but  not  many  of  them,  owing  to  its  extreme  youth. 
It  is  a  most  beautiful  rose.  Others  of  surpassing 
beauty  which  have  been  flowering  are  Caroline 
Testout  and  White  Lady.  But  among  roses  one 
is  lost,  and  for  my  own  part  I  really  do  not  know 
whether  I  prefer  these  to  others,  such  as  Captain 
Christy,  La  France,  Grace  Darling,  Marie  van 
Houtte,  Margaret  Dickson,  Kaiserin  Augusta, 
Victoria  L'Ideal,  Marechal  Niel,  and  many  more 
of  equally  faultless  tint  and  form.  Among  the 
dark  ones,  too,  can  such  rich  beauty  as  Reynold's 
Hole  and  La  Rosiere,  alias  Prince  Camille  de 
Rohan,  be  surpassed?  They  are  all  flowering, 
along  with  many  others,  and  each  one,  as  one  con- 
templates it,  seems  the  best. 

The  Spanish  iris  have  been  very  fine,  taller,  and 
bearing  much  larger  flowers  than  usual. 

All  the  summer  flowers  are  coming  on  rapidly 
with  the  succession  of  plentiful  rain  and  generous 
sunshine  they  have  had  and  their  vigorous  growth 
has  filled  the  beds  to  repletion.  A  flower  I  rather 
regret  not  having  sown  is  Calliopsis,  or  Coreopsis. 
I  do  not  know  the  derivation  of  these  two  names, 
but  I  take  them  to  be  equivalents  and  one  a  cor- 
150 


ana 


ruption  of  the  other,  forming  an  example  of  the 
interchangeable  1  and  r  which  occurs  so  frequent- 
ly in  many  languages.  A  Chinaman  always  pro- 
nounces an  r  like  an  1,  and  Isaac  Taylor  in  his  in- 
teresting work,  The  Alphabet,  tells  us  that  the 
Japanese  r  answers  to  the  Chinese  1  and  its  sign 
has  the  same  origin ;  that  in  Egyptian,  as  in  some 
other  languages,  no  clear  distinction  existed  be- 
tween r  and  1,  and  that  the  primitive  Semitic  al- 
phabet probably  only  possessed  one  sign  for  both. 
In  the  edicts  of  Asoka  the  letters  are  inter- 
changed, "  raja "  in  some  copies  being  written 
"  laja."  In  various  countries,  both  east  and  west, 
I  have  noticed  that  1  and  n  are  also  frequently  in- 
terchanged, and  I  have  sometimes  heard  such  a 
well-known  name  as  Lucknow  pronounced  Nuck- 
low. 

These  facts  once  served  as  text  for  the  follow- 
ing dedication : 

TO  LOLA   ON   HER  BIRTHDAY. 

(A  philological  analysis) 

Interchangeable  letters  philologists  say 
Occur  in  most  languages:  therefore  they  may 
Not  only  be  looked  for  in  words,  but  as  well 
In  names,  where  they  often  get  mixed  up  pell-mell. 


The  r  and  the  1,  and  the  1  and  the  n 
We  know  often  stand  for  each  other;  so  then, 
By  the  simplest  of  reasoning,  who  dare  so  bar 
The  right  to  use  v  for  an  1  or  an  r. 

If  consonants  thus  can  be  handled  so  free, 

The  rule  for  the  vowels  sure  the  same  one  must  be. 

We  may  therefore  prohibit  all  persons  to  say 

We  are  wrong  when  we  write  down  an  e  for  an  a. 

Our  principles  settled,  we'll  now  demonstrate 
And  in  order  our  story  at  once  to  narrate, 
We'll  select  a  sweet  name  an  Italian  would  know 
Is  composed  of  two  articles— la,  also— lo. 

The  masculine  one  perhaps  first  placed  should  be, 
But  philology  is  not  politeness,  you  see, 
And  the  name  of  the  subject  of  this  dissertation 
It  is  clear  can  not  end  with  a  male  termination. 

Two  sexes  are  therefore  established  and  then, 
Being  close  to  each  other,  like  women  and  men, 
They,  instead  of  endeav'ring  to  cut  the  connection 
Unite  into  monosyllabic  affection. 

The  student  who's  earnest  and  follows  all  this 
The  drift  of  the  argument  never  can  miss ; 
For  plainer  nowhere  can  be  shown  than  above, 
By  reason  and  logic,  that  Lola  is  love. 

The  warm  weather  makes  one  feel  very  slack 
and  one  can  imagine  the  delight  of  realizing  the 
152 


ant) 


Italian  "  dolce  far  niente."  I  have  read  that  there 
is  a  delicious  Spanish  proverb,  which  is  a  good 
equivalent,  to  the  effect  that — The  ideal  of  life  is 
never  to  work  between  meals.  I  have  not  come 
across  or  heard  the  original,  which  I  suppose 
would  run  somewhat  as  follows:  El  ideal  de  la 
vida  es  de  nunca  trabajar  entre  comidas.  Both 
these  aphorisms  are  such  as  the  idle  or  languid 
may  cherish  as  refreshments  in  the  dog-days. 

While  on  the  subject  of  maxims,  the  German 
one  which  I  realize  in  obverse  and  reverse,  almost 
daily,  more  than  any  other,  is  Goethe's  dictum: 
"  Vor  den  Wissenden  sich  stellen,  sicher  ist's  in 
alien  Fallen,"  which,  however,  I  find  it  rather 
difficult  to  render  literally  into  English.  The 
meaning  of  it  is :  "  With  wisdom  there  can  be  no 
misunderstanding."  One  certainly  realizes  con- 
stantly that  with  stupidity  there  can  be,  and  that 
misunderstandings  constantly  arise  from  lack  of 
knowledge,  most  discords  being  due  to  ignorance 
on  one  side  or  the  other.  Where  full  knowledge 
and  complete  wisdom  exists  there  can  be  no  room 
for  misconception  or  misjudgment,  and  even  a 
disagreement  becomes  merely  an  agreement  to 
153 


differ.  In  dealing  with  or  representing  matters 
to  the  wise,  one  may  at  all  events  always  feel  safe ; 
whilst  in  treating  with  ignorance,  both  matter 
and  motive  are  likely  to  be  misunderstood. 
"  Tout  savoir ;  c'est  tout  pardonner." 

But  the  French  saying  I  like  best  and  which 
recurs  to  my  mind  with  the  greatest  force  and 
frequency  is:  "Si  jeunesse  savait,  si  vieillesse 
pouvait!"  How  often  does  one  not  see  this  forci- 
bly illustrated !  And  in  one's  maturer  years  how 
often  is  it  not  brought  home  to  one  to  regret  that 
the  power  no  longer  exists  for  the  performance 
of  what  once  might  perhaps  easily  have  been 
achieved  had  only  the  requisite  knowledge  or 
discernment  not  been  lacking! 


154 


The  light  speaks  wide  and  loud 
From  deeps  blown  clean  of  cloud 
As  though  day's  heart  were  proud 
And  heaven's  were  glad.    .     .    . 

Swinburne. 


155 


CHAPTER  XV 
MIDSUMMER    ROSES 


'N  July  the  scene  changes  again  and  the 
colors  of  the  garden  kaleidoscope 
have  rearranged  themselves.  In- 
stead of  with  the  blooms  of  rhodo- 
dendron, azalea,  and  guelder-rose,  the  shrub- 
beries are  now  decked  with  tall  foxgloves,  del- 
phiniums, and  an  occasional  lily  in  amongst  the 
bushes,  whilst  the  beds  are  radiant  with  old- 
fashioned  sweet-williams,  Canterbury  bells,  cam- 
panulas, and  snapdragons,  together  with  early 
gladioli,  phlox,  petunias,  and  verbenas.  All  the 
flowers  have  been  extraordinarily  large  this  year 
and  have  shown  an  unusual  development.  The 
Canterbury  bells  have  been  veritable  good-sized 
bushes  and  the  sweet-williams  almost  like  groups 
of  miniature  trees  with  great,  thick,  strong  stems. 
The  verbenas  are  growing  with  unwonted  lux- 
uriance and  the  carnations  have  masses  of  flowers 
upon  them. 

157 


In  place  of  the  Gloire  de  Dijon  and  the  Dutch 
honeysuckle  on  the  house,  the  rich,  warm  colors 
of  the  crimson  rambler  and  the  Clematis  Jack- 
manni  are  substituted  in  glorious  profusion.  I 
read  the  other  day  that  the  crimson  rambler 
"  does  not  thrive  on  a  south  wall."  It  would, 
however,  be  hard  to  find  one  growing  more  vig- 
orously or  flowering  more  profusely  than  the  one 
growing  on  the  south  wall  of  this  house.  Since 
it  has  been  tended  and  manured  two  years  ago  it 
has  each  summer  thrown  up  fresh  shoots  ten  feet 
long  and  has  been  wreathed  in  dense  masses  .of 
blossoms. 

The  shrubberies  really  owe  most  of  their  bright- 
ness, however,  to  their  being  studded  with  roses 
growing  between  the  shrubs  and  through  them. 
Parts  of  the  garden  are  almost  dominated  by  this 
rose,  the  red  damask  (Gallica)  I  take  it  to  be, 
and  in  some  beds  the  red  and  white  striped  one, 
Rosa  Mundi  (f).  The  former  seems  almost  inde- 
structible. It  had  virtually  taken  possession  of 
portions  of  the  shrubberies  and  was  forcing  such 
hardy  shrubs  as  aucubas,  berberis,  and  other 
things  out  of  existence.  I  had  it  pulled  up  and 

158 


rooted  out  wholesale  where  it  was  too  strong; 
but  this  seems  to  have  done  it  no  harm  and  it  has 
sprung  up  again  everywhere  in  fresher  vigor  than 
before.  A  lot  of  it  has  been  planted  among  laurels 
in  a  newer  shrubbery,  where  it  seems  to  have 
established  itself  well.  It  is  a  most  beautiful 
object  and  goes  on  adorning  the  somber  shrubs 
with  its  brilliant  red  blooms,  which  continue  to 
succeed  one  another  longer  than  any  other  rose  in  , 
the  garden,  being  usually  continuously  covered 
with  flowers  the  whole  of  July  and  part  of  August. 
At  the  end  of  January  many  of  the  roses  got 
their  leaves  entirely  shriveled  up,  as  if  they  had 
been  burnt,  from  a  northeast  gale,  which  lasted 
three  days  and  nights,  and  I  felt  glad  I  had  pro- 
tected the  necks  of  the  recently  planted  ones, 
which  might  otherwise  have  succumbed.  As  it 
turned  out,  I  only  lost  one,  a  Duchesse  de  Caylus, 
and  all  the  rest  have  flourished  and  flowered  well. 
A  Marechal  Niel  on  a  south  porch  was  in  bud  in 
April.  In  addition  to  those  already  mentioned,  I 
must  especially  also  record  the  beauty  of  Maman 
Cochet,  Moire,  Baroness  Rothschild,  Duchess  of 
Albany,  and  Duke  of  Wellington. 
159 


d&attien 


Where  paths  cross  at  right  angles  in  the  kitch- 
en-garden I  have  erected  two  quadruple  sets  of 
arches.  One  has  at  its  four  corners  climbing 
Kaiserin  Augusta  Victoria,  Perle  des  Jardins, 
Marechal  Niel,  and  Beaute  Lyonnaise,  and  the 
other  climbing  La  France,  Captain  Christy,  Mrs. 
W.  J.  Grant,  and  Waltham  Climber.  On  another 
single  arch  I  have  planted  Gruss  an  Teplitz  and 
Marguerite  Appert.  They  have  all  flowered  and 
next  year  I  hope  I  will  make  a  good  show.  Perle 
des  Jardins  I  thought  particularly  beautiful  and  a 
serious  competitor  with  the  Marechal,  whose 
flower  it  resembles. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  the  roses  have  finished 
flowering;  but  a  second  crop  of  Canterbury  bells 
is  coming  on,  seeing  which  I  went  patiently 
through  the  long  job  of  snipping  off  all  the  dead 
flowers  of  the  first  crop,  one  by  one. 

Three  rows  of  sweet-peas  I  had  cut  down  with 
shears  to  about  half  their  height,  trimming  in  also 
the  sides,  and  they  are  now  responding  to  the 
treatment  with  a  fresh  crop  of  flowers.  The 
carnations  have  been  most  prolific,  too,  and  the 
Antirrhinums  equally  so. 

160 


It  Served  as  a  Cradle  for  so  many  Attractive  Objects. 


A  water-hen  has  built  a  nest  and  filled  it  with 
eggs  up  in  an  ivy-clad  tree-trunk  overhanging 
"  The  Drain,"  and  farther  up,  just  above  my 
boundary,  two  broods  of  wild  duck  are  swim- 
ming about,  adding  further  charm  to  this  despised 
bit  of  water. 

Two  years  ago  I  planted  one  of  the  beauti- 
ful American  brambles  in  various  different  posi- 
tions. All  the  plants  withered  and  disappeared 
long  since;  but  lately  two  of  them  have  sprung 
up  again  in  the  moister  sites  chosen  on  the  margin 
of  the  brook,  as  I  think  I  must  now  in  common 
justice  call  "  The  Drain,"  since  it  serves  as  a 
cradle  for  so  many  attractive  objects. 

It  is  thus  that  we  often  eventually  discover 
good  in  an  unattractive  and  evil  guise,  which 
causes  the  reflection  as  to  whether  evil  must  not 
also  have  its  uses  in  working  toward  the  universal 
goal  to  which  all  things  tend  and  unconsciously 
strive.  Discontent  is  the  source  from  which 
progress  springs,  and  may  not  perhaps  other  bad 
qualities  or  attributes  also  have  their  uses  ?  May 
it  not  be,  if  we  had  only  eyes  to  see  and  brains  to 
discern  clearly,  that  in  envy,  hatred,  malice,  and 
11  161 


all  uncharitableness  is  enclosed  some  kernel  which 
nurtures  another  germ  of  advancement?  May 
not  envy  be  the  outcome  of  emulation  and  a  de- 
sire for  improvement,  hatred  of  an  aversion  to 
evil,  malice  of  a  somewhat  too  pronounced  faculty 
to  assail  the  unsympathetic  and  discordant?  And 
may  not  uncharitableness  arise  from  an  over- 
strong  sense  of  self-preservation? 

"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity,"  and  profit- 
able perhaps  also  is  the  use  of  evil.  There  are 
many  puzzles  in  life  and  this  is  one  of  them, 
though  some  day  we  shall  no  doubt  unravel  the 
web  which  at  present  obscures  the  precise  manner 
in  which  certain  evils  work  for  good  and  perform 
a  necessary  function  in  "  the  great  scheme."  Of 
course  it  is  clear  enough  that  some  evils,  that  is 
to  say,  violations  of  the  laws  of  nature,  bring 
their  own  direct  consequences,  destroying  the 
individual  for  the  benefit  of  the  community,  not 
only  by  the  removal  of  an  adverse  and  retarding 
influence,  but  also  by  a  swifter  redistribution  of 
matter  and  force  for  vitalizing  absorption  into 
the  more  regular  units  of  nature  who  do  not  in- 
fringe its  laws  or  impede  its  forward  march. 
162 


Another  puzzle  to  me  of  a  different  kind  has 
always  been,  not  how  an  apple  is  got  into  a  dump- 
ling, but  how  it  is  we  are  still  taught  that 
Pharaoh's  host  was  drowned  in  the  Red  Sea  in- 
stead of  Lake  Serbonis.  We  know,  of  course, 
that  the  Pharaoh  of  the  Exodus,  Menephtah  II, 
did  not  perish  himself  with  his  host,  as  his  body 
was  found  a  few  years  ago  at  Dayr  el  Bahri,  and 
may  still  be  seen  in  Egypt  in  an  excellent  state  of 
preservation.  Milton,  when  he  wrote  Paradise 
Lost,  about  1665,  evidently  knew  where  the 
Egyptian  army  must  have  been  engulfed,  for  he 
refers  to 

A  gulf  profound  as  that  Serbonian  bog 
Betwixt  Damiata  and  Mount  Cassius  old, 
Where  armies  whole  have  sunk.   .    .    . 

Of  course  he  may  have  had  in  mind  the  de- 
struction of  the  invading  Persian  army  of  Artax- 
erxes ;  but  why  is  it  that  the  mistranslation  of  the 
name  Yam  Souf  into  the  Red  Sea,  instead  of  into 
its  real  meaning — the  Sea  of  Weeds,  or  Reeds, 
by  which  name  Lake  Serbonis  was  known — was 
not  set  right  in  the  revised  translation  of  the 
Bible  in  1884,  ten  years  after  Brugsch  had  pub- 

163 


lished  his  lucid  exposition  on  the  subject?  The 
French  Bible  falls  into  our  error ;  but  the  German, 
I  see,  renders  Yam  Souf  correctly  into  Schilfmeer. 
I  commend  to  my  readers  the  interesting  study 
of  Brugsch's  Discourse  on  The  Exodus  and  the 
Monuments,  in  intervals  of  repose  snatched  from 
gardening  operations. 


164 


I  am  bored  in  the  morning,  bored  in  the 
afternoon,  and  bored  in  the  evening. 

Modern  Play. 


165 


CHAPTER  XVI 
GARDENS    AND    LIFE 

HE  most  noticeable  flowers  I  have  in 
August  are  the  asters,  geraniums, 
petunias,  stocks,  carnations,  and 
phloxes.  The  antirrhinums  seem  to 
be  always  present  and  give  almost  perpetual  color 
to  the  beds.  I  have  been  striving  for  some  time 
past  to  weed  out  the  pale,  washed-out  colors,  pre- 
serving only  the  rich  ones  with  a  few  white  and 
clean  yellows*  The  scarlet  gladioli  and  some  of 
the  other  autumn-flowering  ones  have  also  added 
materially  to  the  brightness.  The  Japanese  anem- 
ones are  announcing  the  approaching  end  of  sum- 
mer by  beginning  to  flower  very  early. 

The  phloxes  are  very  large  and  bountiful  and 
the  carnations  have  been  bearing  masses  of  flow- 
er-spikes of  unusual  size  right  up  to  the  end  of 
the  month.  There  has  been  little  sun  and  much 
moisture,  so  that  watering  has  never  been  neces- 

167 


sary.  The  absence  of  sunlight  and  warmth  has 
kept  back  the  Canterbury  bells  and  their  second 
crop  of  flowers  has  not  come  out  till  nearly  the 
end  of  the  month,  when  it  has  been  profuse, 
though  the  individual  flowers  have  been  small. 
The  roses  are  just  commencing  to  awake  into 
bloom  again,  after  their  summer  sleep. 

My  hollyhocks  from  seed,  sown  this  year,  have 
for  the  most  part  done  well.  They  have  grown 
to  a  full  height  and  flowered,  with  the  exception 
of  some  planted  in  a  bed  near  a  walnut-tree. 
These  at  first  throve  wonderfully  well  and  looked 
strong  and  healthy  till  they  were  about  two  feet 
high,  when  they  began  to  dwindle  and  finally  al- 
most died  away  altogether,  whilst  their  fellows 
continued  to  flourish  in  a  more  congenial  locality. 

One  of  my  Lilium  Giganteum  blossomed  its  first 
year,  sending  up  a  strong  stalk  about  five  feet 
high,  crowned  with  light,  beautiful  white  trum- 
pets lined  inside  with  delicate  pale  purple.  I  hope 
they  will  all  do  better  next  year. 

One  of  the  Tropceolums  which  I  was  waiting 
for  has  flowered  already.  It  is  one  of  the  large 
tubers  previously  referred  to,  and  turns  out  to  be, 
168 


ana  Life 


not  speciosum,  which  I  ordered  and  wanted,  but 
tuberosum,  which  I  care  for  much  less.  I  have  a 
great  mind  to  name  the  person  who  sold  it  me 
and  took  advantage  of  my  ignorance. 

The  moles  have  been  terribly  active,  worse  than 
I  have  known  them  before,  and  there  is  hardly  a 
patch  in  the  garden  they  have  not  furrowed.  A 
number  of  them  have  been  caught ;  but  they  have 
damaged  all  the  lawns  and  have  completely  spoilt 
several  flower-beds.  The  season  seems  to  have 
been  particularly  favorable  to  them,  and  the  va- 
riety of  drawbacks  the  gardener  has  to  contend 
with  never  seems  to  end,  and  provides  constant 
occupation. 

This  is,  however,  an  age  of  variety  entertain- 
ment, in  which  the  brains  of  most  people,  as 
Max  Nordau  so  graphically  points  out,  are  dis- 
tracted sorely  from  staple  thought  and  concen- 
tration. The  growing  competition  for  wealth, 
luxury,  and  increased  comfort  has  reached  an  un- 
wholesome stage  of  development,  and  sooner  or 
later  I  hope  some  reaction  toward  a  simpler, 
staider  life  will  set  in.  At  present  the  turmoil  of 
the  race  for  supremacy,  both  individual  and  na- 

169 


tional,  is  most  unsettling,  and  the  human  mind 
has  but  little  repose  for  quiet  contemplation,  in- 
trospection, and  growth  in  grace.  That  a  garden 
is  no  doubt  itself  a  variety  entertainment  I  will 
not  attempt  to  deny ;  it  is,  however,  a  healthy  and 
calming  one,  moles  notwithstanding.  But  many 
people  seemed  discontented  unless  life  generally 
presents  itself  to  them  as  a  perpetual  variety  en- 
tertainment, and  have  every  appearance  of  con- 
sidering it  hardly  worth  living  immediately  it 
ceases  to  be  one.  The  lack  of  repose,  like  adver- 
tisement, is  the  bane  of  the  age. 

I  always  try  to  discern  some  true  meaning  and 
ultimate  moral  trend  in  all  social  phenomena,  and 
I  think  that  perhaps  even  variety  entertainments 
may  serve  some  useful  purpose,  or  at  least  be  re- 
garded as  having  some  important  or  instructive 
signification. 

Variety,  or  variation,  as  every  horticulturist, 
every  student  of  Darwin,  and  every  breeder  of 
animals  knows,  is  the  first  necessary  step  toward 
selection  and  improvement  of  the  species,  and 
without  it  there  could  be  no  separation  and  se- 
lection, either  humanly  designed  or  naturally 
170 


d5attienj3  anti  Hife 


cumulative,  of  the  best  or  fittest,  since  all  would 
be  on  a  dead  level,  exactly  alike.,  Imagine 
what  the  organic  world  would  be  if  there  had  been 
no  variation !  If  we  go  far  enough  back  it  would 
never  had  have  passed  the  simple  protozoic  stage. 
There  would  be  no  multiformity  of  species  and  so 
complex  an  organism  as  the  human  animal,  or, 
indeed,  any  other  animal  or  plant,  would  never 
have  been  developed.  As  discontent  covers  the 
mainspring  actuating  moral  and  material  im- 
provement, so  does  variety  or  variation  from  type 
contain  the  whole  essential  condition  which  ren- 
ders advancement  at  all  possible.  It  may  thus 
easily  be  seen  that  the  craving  for  variety  has 
a  most  important  biological  significance  and  is 
perhaps  part  of  the  inherent  natural  craving 
tendency  of  all  living  forms  to  bring  about  that 
first  indispensable  condition  out  of  which  their 
improvement  can  take  its  birth,  and  without 
which  they  must  remain  doomed  to  everlasting 
stagnation. 

And  yet,  though  the  advance  from  protozoon  to 
humanity  has  been  so  great,  what  vast  and  end- 
less cumulation  of  selected  variation  remains  to 
171 


dffar&en 


be  achieved  in  order  to  bring  the  sensory  instru- 
ments to  an  adequate  refinement  and  sensitive- 
ness to  appreciate  even  phenomena  already 
vaguely  known,  and  to  bring  the  brain  into  a  con- 
dition of  capacity  to  effectively  command  the  ex- 
ercise of  reason  and  the  subordination  of  senti- 
ment and  impulse  into  profitable  bounds!  And 
the  further  almost  infinite  advancement  which  is 
requisite  before  we  can  be  in  a  position  to  appre- 
ciate and  understand  "  the  unknown  "  is  so  far  off 
that  we  must  leave  it  where  it  is,  "behind  the 
veil,"  among  the  hidden  secrets  of  nature,  which 
it  is  profitless  for  us  even  to  try  to  speculate  upon 
at  present. 

Instead  of  indulging  in  the  luxury  of  grief  or 
hopelessness  at  our  deficiencies,  let  us  rather  en- 
deavor, like  true  philosophers,  while  fulfilling  our 
individual  mission  to  the  best  of  our  lights,  to  get 
out  of  our  brief  span  such  enjoyments  as  come 
within  our  reach.  Too  many  of  these  are  missed 
in  the  vain  pursuit  of  those  amusements  which 
George  Cornewall  Lewis  considered  render  life 
intolerable,  while  most  of  us  are  to  each  other 
like  "  ships  that  pass  in  the  night,"  and  lose,  often 
172 


anfc  Life 


owing  as  much  to  the  sway  of  convention  as  to 
the  personal  reserve,  many  opportunities  of  pleas- 
ant intercourse.  Even  where  at  first  sight  there 
may  be  a  sufficient  germ  of  mutual  sympathy  to 
engender  intercommunication,  an  impassable  bar- 
rier of  convention  often  springs  up,  defying  as- 
sault and  effectually  barring  the  desired  coales- 
cence; and  thus  we  go  through  our  short  spell 
of  life  dull  and  alone,  where  we  might  be  cheer- 
fully and  sociably  entertained. 

Although  life  itself  is  no  doubt  eternal,  its  ac- 
companiments, phases,  or  manifestations  are 
ephemeral,  and  even  the  best-established  popular- 
ity fades  like  other  tender  blossoms.  Absence 
of  variety  alone  seems  sufficient  to  account  for 
this;  for  the  human  mind  must  move  onward, 
steadfast  only  on  the  constant  change  necessary 
toward  progression.  Remarkable  testimony  to 
the  truth  of  this  view  is  presented  by  the  fact  that 
the  public  always  endeavors  to  perpetuate  for  as 
long  a  period  as  possible  their  appreciation  of  ex- 
emplary deeds  and  conduct  by  the  erection  of 
memorials  in  stone  and  metal,  which,  perishable 
as  they  are,  are  still  felt  to  be  more  enduring  than 
173 


the  ever-changing  human  mind.  Feeling  that  we 
shall  forget,  "  lest  we  forget "  we  are  fain  to  con- 
trive mnemonics  which  shall  attest  the  transient 
feebleness  of  our  own  memories  and  impressions 
and  which  shall  certify  to  all  beholders  that  the 
achievements  thus  commemorated  must  quickly 
wane  and  disappear  in  the  onward  rush.  When 
I  see  great  monuments,  tombs,  and  statues  I  often 
wonder  whether  all  their  subjects  would  or  do 
regard  them  as  really  complimentary,  and  not  as 
standing  evidence  that  their  memories  must  other- 
wise rapidly  pass  away. 


174 


For  wonderful  indeed  are  all  his  works, 

Pleasant  to  know,  and  •worthiest  to  be  all 

Had  in  remembrance  always  with  delight: 

But  what  created  mind  can  comprehend 

Their  number,  or  the  wisdom  infinite 

That  brought  them  forth,  but  hid  their  causes  deep? 

Milton. 


175 


CHAPTER  XVII 
SOME    OLD-TIME    FAVORITES 

WONDER  how  many  thousand  miles 
I  have  walked  round  my  garden!  I 
suppose,  in  any  case,  I  must  have 
traveled  in  it  as  far  in  a  year  as 
the  distance  many  people  traverse  in  a  twelve- 
month's travel  abroad. 

Lately  I  happened  to  light  upon  that  most 
charming  of  garden  books,  Voyage  autour  de 
mon  Jardin,  which  I  had  not  read  for  many  years, 
and  I  have  been  reading  it  again  with  the  greatest 
interest  and  delight.  It  is  a  perfect  storehouse  of 
the  natural-historic  facts  of  garden  life,  love,  and 
legend,  all  set  forth  in  a  pleasing  and  picturesque 
manner  unequaled  in  any  other  book  that  I  know 
of.  The  spirit  of  the  author  is  shown  sufficiently 
where,  in  contemplating  the  marvelous  increase 
from  a  tiny  seed  of  evening  primrose  into  count- 
less and  interminable  generations  of  beautiful, 
12  I77 


sweet-scented  plants,  he  says  (I  will  translate  for 
the  benefit  of  the  purely  English  reader,  at  the 
risk  of  spoiling  the  original)  :  "  Ah !  I  now  under- 
stand the  joy  vouchsafed  to  Thine  elect  which  I 
have  sometimes  smiled  at  ironically;  that  ineffa- 
ble joy  of  seeing  Thee  face  to  face.  I  understand 
it  by  the  delight  which  I  experience  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  smallest  of  Thy  works,  hidden 
away  in  the  greensward  or  secluded  in  the  foliage. 
O  Lord!  when  I  give  myself  up  to  the  con- 
templation of  nature,  it  seems  to  me  that  Thou  art 
no  longer  hidden  from  view  but  by  a  veil  so 
transparent  that  the  lightest  breath  of  air 
would  raise  it.  O  Lord!  what  do  those  .  .  . 
people  want  who  ask  for  miracles,  and  those 
other  .  .  .  people  who  relate  them?  Is  there 
a  single  blade  of  grass  which  is  not  a  miracle 
far  above  the  mythologies  of  all  times  and  of  all 
nations?  O  Lord!  does  not  the  least  of  Thy 
insects  speak  to  me  more  eloquently  of  Thy  power 
than  those  ridiculous  advocates  who  have  the  in- 
solence to  defend  Thee  as  a  culprit  and  to  discuss 
Thee  in  their  folly  and  vacuity?" 
Talking  on  the  life  of  insects  and  reflecting  how 
178 


in  their  metamorphosis,  first  as  an  ugly  larva, 
leading  a  lowly  and  obscure  life;  then  as  a  pupa 
encased  in  a  shroud  and  to  all  appearance  lifeless ; 
and  finally  emerging  from  this  sarcophagus 
clothed  perhaps  in  the  richest  colors,  with  daz- 
zling wings  which  permit  the  image  to  raise  itself 
aloft,  above  the  earth  where  it  has  hitherto  only 
crawled,  our  author  says :  "  And  this  life  of  ours 
which  we  lead  on  the  earth,  is  it  really  our  per- 
fect state  ?  That  which  we  call  death,  is  it  really 
the  end  of  life?  Shall  we  not  also  have  to  take 
wing  and  soar  up  toward  the  sun,  above  the  level 
of  all  the  miseries  and  passions  and  wants  of  a 
primary  state  of  existence?" 

Individual  existence,  as  I  have  said,  is  but  a 
transitory  condition  or  phase  of  the  eternal  life 
of  matter  and  force,  which  themselves  may  both 
be  one,  and  yet  in  our  weakness  and  folly  we  lay 
great  store  by  our  so-called  possessions.  My  fas- 
cinating author,  Alphonse  Karr,  says :  "  I  remem- 
bered how  small  were  my  wants  and  desires ;  the 
greatest,  the  surest,  and  the  most  independent 
of  fortunes,"  and  again :  "  What  a  strange  thing 
is  this  possession  of  which  men  are  so  envious! 
179 


When  I  possessed  nothing,  I  had  the  forests  and 
the  meadows,  the  sea  and  the  heavens  with  all 
their  stars ;  but  ever  since  I  have  bought  this  old 
house  and  garden,  I  have  nothing  else.  Posses- 
sion is  a  contract  by  which  we  renounce  every- 
thing that  is  not  enclosed  within  a  definite  lim- 
ited boundary. 

"There  are  moments  when  I  ask  myself 
whether  perchance  our  minds  may  not  be  so 
turned  that  we  call  poverty  that  which  is  splendor 
and  riches,  and  opulence  that  which  is  misery  and 
nakedness." 

Most  of  us  certainly  evince  but  very  little  ap- 
preciation of  the  wealth  and  pleasure  which  might 
surround  us  if  we  only  gave  ourselves  up  to  their 
assimilation.  We  look  at  most  things  in  an  ig- 
norant, distorted  way,  and  it  is  difficult  to  say 
which  of  us  are  sane  and  reasonable  and  which 
are  witless  and  irrational.  "  Dans  toutes  les 
grandes  villes,  il  y  a  un  hopital  pour  les  insenses ; 
c'est  que,  en  y  renfermant  quelques  pauvres  dia- 
bles  sous  le  nom  de  fous,  on  fait  croire  aux 
etrangers  que  ceux  qui  sont  hors  de  cet  hopital 
ne  sont  pas." 

180 


Among  the  distinguished  residents  in  the  shape 
of  roses  who  have  settled  in  my  garden  and 
adorned  it  most  during  the  month  of  September 
were  General  Jacqueminot,  Captain  Hayward,  Hein- 
rich  Schultheis,  Fisher  Holmes,  Camile  Bernardin, 
Captain  Christy,  Tom  Wood,  Oscar  Cordel,  Dr. 
Andry,  and  the  Dukes  of  Teck  and  Wellington. 
They  were  accompanied  by  La  France  and  La 
Rosiere,  whilst  the  following  graceful  and  lovely 
ladies  added  further  charm  to  the  scene:  The 
Duchesses  de  Morny  and  of  Albany,  Lady  Helen 
Stewart,  Kaiserin  Augusta  Victoria,  Mrs.  John 
Laing,  Marie  Baumann,  Grace  Darling,  White  Lady, 
Clara  Watson,  Caroline  Testout,  Marie  van  Houtte, 
Maman  Cochet,  and  Madame  Berard.  These  all  dis- 
played their  beauties  satisfactorily  in  their  second 
bloom  of  the  year,  the  Tea  and  Noisette  class  es- 
specially  producing  small  but  well-shaped  flowers. 
Bouquet  D'Or  and  L'Ideal  also  contributed  a  fair 
amount  of  blossom. 

My  bed  of  Salpiglossis,  which  I  looked  forward 

to  with  such  high  expectation,  has  been  a  great 

disappointment,  and  I  have  derived  from  it  no 

pleasure  but  that  of  anticipation,  and  then  I  saw 

181 


(Bartien 


finally  that  the  season  was  too  far  advanced  to 
cherish  any  further  illusions  about  it.  So  I  had  to 
root  out  the  poor  weakly  plants,  decayed  for  want 
of  sun  and  from  excess  of  moisture,  and  buried 
my  hopes  in  the  earth  with  the  wallflowers  which 
shortly  afterward  occupied  the  ground. 

The  roses  went  a  long  way  to  assuage  my  grief 
over  the  failure  of  the  Salpiglossis;  but  even  in  re- 
gard to  those,  I  reflected  in  my  bitterness  with 
Grant  Allen  that  after  all,  for  all  the  poets  have 
said  and  sung,  the  rose  itself  is  strictly  utilitarian 
and  does  not  exist  purely  for  our  delectation. 
"  You  help  me,  and  I  will  help  you,"  it  says  to  the 
butterfly;  "and  it  keeps  the  sternest  possible 
debtor  and  creditor  account  with  all  its  benefac- 
tors." The  previous  summer,  which  was  hot  and 
dry,  when  I  had  not  aspired  to  a  whole  bed  of 
Salpiglossis,  those  I  had  in  various  positions  throve 
well  and  bore  magnificent  blossoms  of  the  most 
gorgeous  colors. 

The  sweet-peas,  which  were  sown  in  October 

and  were  cut  down  in  July,  are  still  flowering 

freely,  and  some  of  those  sown  in  the  spring  and 

cut  down  in  August  promise  to  go  on  producing 

182 


bloom  for  a  long  time  yet.  I  have  been  much 
pleased  with  the  excellent  results  of  pruning  these 
beautiful  plants.  When  by  plucking  the  flowers 
they  can  no  longer  be  kept  in  check  and  form  seed- 
pods  freely,  I  cut  them  down  with  shears  to  about 
eighteen  inches  to  two  feet  from  the  ground,  clip- 
ping off  also  all  the  side  shoots  and  pods  below 
that  level.  With  the  administration  of  water  and 
a  little  liquid  manure  they  then  come  on  again 
and  the  new  growth  flowers  almost  as  vigorously 
as  before. 

The  large  pink  mallow  has  been  quite  a  feature 
in  the  garden  and  has  been  covered  with  masses 
of  flowers.  The  moist  season  seems  to  have 
suited  it,  though  many  of  the  roses  have  suffered 
from  mildew.  I  have  applied  the  remedy  so 
strongly  recommended  by  Dean  Hole,  namely, 
soot,  and  many  of  the  bushes,  therefore,  are  very 
unsightly  and  unapproachable. 

The  second  crop  of  flowers  is  still  on  the  Can- 
terbury bells  and  a  few  foxgloves  have  strug- 
gled into  bloom  again,  whilst  a  number  of  lilies, 
chiefly  auratum  and  speciosum,  show  their  beauti- 
ful heads  through  the  shrubs. 

183 


Toward  the  end  of  the  month  some  of  the  tall- 
est dahlias  got  their  heads  nipped  by  the  frost. 
The  season  has  been  most  unfavorable  to  them, 
and  owing  to  lack  of  heat  they  developed  too  late 
to  produce  such  fine  flowers  as  they  have  done 
in  more  congenial  conditions.  Still,  /.  W.  Wilkin- 
son, Night,  Exquisite,  The  Prince  of  Yellows,  and 
Red  Rover  gave  a  good  account  of  themselves. 
The  last  of  these  I  have  grown  two  successive 
years  when  the  conditions  of  moisture  and  tem- 
perature have  been  entirely  different,  and  it  has 
shown  itself  to  be  not  only  the  handsomest  but 
also  the  hardiest  of  all  the  cactus  tribe  I  have  had. 
Its  habit  is  all  that  can  be  required  of  a  dahlia. 
The  plant  is  tall,  strong,  and  loosely  constructed, 
and  its  magnificent  flowers  protrude  well  out  of 
the  foliage  on  long,  tough  stalks,  so  that  the  in- 
dividual blooms  and  the  plant  as  a  whole  are  most 
gorgeous  and  attractive  objects. 

The  Delphiniums  which  were  cut  down  have 
grown  up  again  and  are  flowering ;  but  they  evi- 
dently now  begin  to  realize  that  spring  has  not 
come  yet  and  their  colors  are  but  a  poor  imitation 
of  their  real  summer  dress. 
184 


f  aioritejs 


Some  of  the  anemones  also  seem  to  have  mis- 
taken the  season  and  have  burst  into  bloom.  Al- 
phonse  Karr  relates  how  this  flower  was  orig- 
inally brought  to  France  from  India,  more  than 
two  centuries  ago,  by  a  Monsieur  Bachelier,  who 
declined  for  ten  years  to  distribute  it.  But  his 
selfish  design  was  frustrated  by  a  magistrate  who 
visited  him  in  his  robes  of  office,  which  he  trailed 
over  some  of  the  precious  plants  while  in  seed, 
carrying  away  some  of  the  seeds  which  attached 
themselves  to  the  wool  of  his  garment. 


They  who  see  but  one  in  all  the  changing  manifoldness  of  this 
universe,  unto  them  belongs  Eternal  Truth,  unto  none  else,  unt- 
none  else. 


187 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
AUTUMNAL    FORECAST 

ALWAYS  know  when  a  woman  has 
been  in  my  dressing-room  by  the 
slope  of  the  mirror,  and  I  also  know 
when  a  member  of  the  same  capti- 
vating sex  has  been  denuding  the  garden  of  flow- 
ers. In  October  this  would  not  be  so  very  diffi- 
cult of  accomplishment  were  it  not  that  in  addi- 
tion to  roses  there  are  still  quantities  of  sweet- 
peas  with  plenty  of  buds  to  follow. 

The  Clematis  Duchess  of  Albany  has  a  quantity 
of  flowers  on  it  and  has  shown  a  wonderful  growth 
and  development ;  but  in  my  view  this  is  worthy 
of  a  better  cause  and  I  can  not  care  for  the  plant, 
notwithstanding  the  glowing  terms  in  which  I 
sometimes  see  it  described  in  catalogues.  I  find 
I  am  unable  to  evoke  any  emotion  in  its  behalf, 
which  perhaps  is  not  surprising  when  I  confess 
to  holding  the  opinion  that  the  seat  of  the  emo- 
tions is  below  the  diaphragm,  whatever  senti- 
189 


mentalists  may  have  asserted  to  the  contrary  and 
however  much  they  may  talk  about  the  heart. 
It  is  a  trite  saying  that  a  man's  heart  is  in  his 
stomach ;  but  there  is  much  more  truth  in  it  than 
those  who  say  it,  thinking  only  of  man's  "  gor- 
mandize," imagine.  Where,  I  would  ask,  in  a 
healthy  subject,  are  such  emotions  as  love,  affec- 
tion, disappointment,  depression,  and  sorrow  felt? 
And  where  is  the  sensation  when  the  "heart 
sinks  "  ?  Not  above  the  diaphragm,  though  ex- 
citing emotions  like  anger,  hatred,  and  their  fel- 
lows may  accelerate  the  action  of  the  heart.  I 
am  afraid  "the  heart"  is  often  only  a  poetic 
euphemism  for  the  stomach,  and  this  is  perhaps 
most  strongly  evidenced  in  the  French  expression 
"  mal  au  cceur." 

This  dissertation  on  anatomy  reminds  me  of  the 
boy's  answer  on  being  asked  to  describe  the  hu- 
man body:  "The  human  body  consists  of  three 
parts,  the  head,  the  thorax,  and  the  abdomen.  The 
head  contains  the  brain;  the  thorax  contains  the 
heart  and  the  lungs,  and  the  abdomen  contains 
the  vowels,  of  which  there  are  five,  a,  e,  i,  o,  and 
u,  and  sometimes  w  and  y." 
190 


autumnal 


How  very  nearly  accurate  is  the  boy's  defini- 
tion of  truth  as  an  attitude  of  the  mind  in  which 
we  believe  "  what  we  know  to  be  untrue,"  instead 
of  "what  we  do  not  know  to  be  true."  Where 
knowledge  comes  in  at  the  door,  faith  flies  out 
at  the  window. 

In  many  ways,  with  all  our  boasted  knowledge 
and  ripe  experience,  we  still  behave  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  childhood.  Why,  else,  do  we  pay  the 
doctor  when  we  are  ill,  instead  of  when  we  are 
well,  suspending  his  fees,  as  the  Chinese  are  said 
to  do,  so  long  as  our  health  fails? 

A  favorite  author  of  mine  has  it  that  a  sure  test 
of  youth  is  the  ability  to  eat  a  boggy  bun  just  be- 
fore a  meal,  and  no  doubt  it  is  an  excellent  proof 
of  juvenility.  But  a  surer  and  more  general  test, 
I  notice,  is  the  cocksureness  of  youth.  Doubts 
only  come  thick  with  the  ashes,  when  the  beau- 
tiful fire  of  hope  and  confidence  is  burning  low, 
and  when  our  future  looms  behind  us,  when  "  cold 
wisdom  judges  severely  all  that  it  can  no  longer 
do,  calls  loss  of  appetite  sobriety,  the  stagnation 
of  the  blood  the  return  of  reason,  and  envious  im- 
potence the  disdain  of  what  is  futile."  I  always 
191 


think  when  I  see  young  people  exhibiting  failings 
inherent  in  youth  that  they  are  after  all  only 
suffering  from  one  of  the  temporary  maladies 
which  time  must  cure,  and  from  a  malady,  more- 
over, which  many  of  us  would  like  to  enjoy. 

Life  is  a  wonderful  thing,  whether  in  youth  or 
in  age,  in  its  earliest  protoplasmic  dawn  or  in  the 
zenith  of  its  development  in  the  lord  of  the  ani- 
mal kingdom.  But  what  is  life  and  what  is  the 
test  of  life  ?  The  test  of  life  is,  I  imagine,  gener- 
ally acknowledged  to  be  the  capability  of  response 
to  stimulus.  That,  however,  being  the  case,  Pro- 
fessor Bose  has  shown  conclusively  that  living 
response  in  all  its  varied  manifestations  is  ex- 
hibited by  what  is  known  as  the  inorganic  as  well 
as  by  the  organic.  He  demonstrates  in  a  series 
of  patient  and  convincing  experiments  that  metals 
betray  evidences  of  response  precisely  similar  to 
those  which  are  accepted  in  the  organic  as  the 
unfailing  testimony  of  life;  that  the  response  in 
metals  may  be  stimulated  and  repressed  by  the 
administration  of  exciting  or  depressing  drugs, 
and  that  there  is  no  break  of  continuity  in  the 
essential  condition  of  life  between  the  inorganic 
192 


autumnal  forecast 


and  the  organic.  Both,  under  varied  conditions, 
may  live  or  fade  or  die,  and  their  death  may  be 
encompassed  by  either  of  the  causes,  over-excite- 
ment, over-fatigue,  or  excessive  depression.  The 
world  of  matter  is  thus  shown  not  to  be  swayed 
by  an  unknown  and  mystic  force  called  vitality, 
but  in  its  stead  to  be  dominated  by  physical  laws 
which  know  no  change  and  whose  wonderful 
workings  we  should  make  it  our  duty  and  interest 
to  try  to  fathom  and  understand.  What  a  marvel- 
ous bridge  does  this  new  revelation  construct, 
connecting  the  inorganic  world  with  the  organic, 
demonstrating  further  the  unity  of  all  nature  and 
the  universal,  equal,  and  unfailing  operation  of  its 
laws !  Would  any  ordinary  person  hitherto  have 
thought  it  possible  that  a  sheet  of  zinc  or  copper 
could  feel  and  respond  to  stimulating  or  depress- 
ing influences,  with  evidences  of  excitement, 
fatigue,  and  prostration  precisely  similar  to  those 
exhibited  by  organic  matter?  The  very  terms 
organic  and  inorganic  seem  doomed  to  lose  their 
significance  since  the  sharp  dividing  line  between 
them  has  been  erased. 

Thus  does  knowledge,  as  the  result  of  patient 
13  193 


and  persevering  research,  progress;  and  where 
will  it  eventually  lead  us  to,  as  our  brains  become 
more  and  more  familiar  with  the  simple  explana- 
tion, by  the  working  of  universal  natural  law,  of 
what  we  now  regard  as  mystery?  There  is  no 
standing  still,  and  the  only  repose  in  nature  is 
that  of  study,  constant,  relentless,  and  everlasting 
motion  onward,  calm,  unerring,  unpitying,  and  in- 
exorable. 

Of  what  significance,  in  all  this  stupendous 
grandeur,  can  the  individual  be  except  to  himself 
as  a  transitory  atom  in  infinity? 

George  Eliot  said :  "  Consequences  are  unpity- 
ing," and  so  they  are  and  must  be  since  they  are 
the  inexorable  sequence  of  causes  governed  by 
the  immutable  laws  of  nature  which  recognize  no 
possibility  of  deviation.  These  same  immutable 
laws  are  the  force  which  has  infallibly  brought 
about  and  guided  all  development  up  to  its  highest 
form  in  the  structure  and  working  of  the  human 
brain ;  and  in  this  brain  perhaps  the  most  wonder- 
ful phase  of  operations  is  unconscious  cerebration, 
when  the  brain  works  by  itself  and  without  any 
deliberate  or  active  exercise  of  will  or  concen- 
194 


autumnal  tforecagt 


tration  power  to  stimulate  it  to  perform  its 
functions. 

I  find  now  that  it  is  an  extraordinarily  reliable 
calculating  machine,  and  when  I  entrust  prob- 
lems to  it,  which  I  can  not  solve  by  the  exercise 
of  thought  and  will  at  the  moment,  it  works  them 
out  and  gives  me  the  solution  of  its  own  accord, 
after  an  interval  in  which  I  have  not  bestowed  a 
moment's  conscious  thought  upon  the  subject  in 
hand.  In  youth  the  difficulty  usually  seems  to  be 
to  sustain  the  effort  of  will  necessary  to  promote 
concentration.  In  mature  age  neither  effort  nor 
concentration  is  required,  as  the  machine  has 
worn  down  its  bearings  and  runs  smoothly  with- 
out constant  watching.  This,  at  least,  is  my  in- 
dividual experience;  but  I  am  quite  prepared  to 
admit  it  may  not  be  universal,  or  even  general, 
and  may  vary  with  every  different  constitution 
and  temperament. 

I  wish  I  knew  what  I  ought  to  do  to  my  Lilium 
Giganteum;  whether  anything  should  be  done  to 
those  that  have  not  flowered,  or  whether  the  one 
which  has  flowered  should  be  disturbed  and  the 
new  offsets,  which  should  be  found  clustered 
195 


round  the  root,  taken  up  and  replanted,  as  Miss 
Jekyll  seems  to  indicate. 

The  goldenrod  has  been  very  showy  in  the  gar- 
den and  is  a  very  handsome  and  graceful  flower, 
most  useful  for  cutting. 

The  azalea  foliage  is  resplendent  and  many 
other  leaves  and  berries  betray  the  rapid  advance 
of  autumn. 

Having  been  in  Scotland  lately,  I  brought  back 
some  ferns  and  plants  of  common  heather,  white 
heather,  and  bell  heather,  which  I  have  had  plant- 
ed with  a  little  of  their  own  native  peat  in  my 
apology  for  a  rockery,  where  I  hope  they  may 
thrive,  although  the  conditions  are  so  different 
from  those  by  which  they  have  hitherto  been  sur- 
rounded. In  my  host's  garden  in  North  Britain 
everything,  except  perhaps  the  roses,  seemed  to 
luxuriate  in  the  rich,  moist  soil  which  rested  upon 
a  substratum  of  pure  peat.  How  I  wished  I  could 
transfer  a  whole  trainload  of  it  to  my  garden! 
When  one  jumped  upon  the  garden  path  the  oil 
vibrated  for  some  distance  round  over  its  opulent 
and  elastic  bed. 


Las  hojas  del  arbol  caidas 
Juguetes  del  viento  son. 
Las  ilusiones  perdidas 
Ay!  son  hojas  desprendidas 
Del  arbol  del  corazdn." 

The  leaves  that  fall  from  the  trees 
Gay  sport  of  the  winds  soon  are, 
And  illusions  once  lost 
Are  the  leaves  that  are  tossed 
From  the  tree  of  the  heart  afar. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
FALLING  LEAVES 

'F  there  were  any  doubts  or  illusions 
about  it  before,  there  can  be  no  un- 
certainty now  that  autumn  is  ad- 
vancing with  rapid  strides.  The  gar- 
den is  strewn  with  dead  leaves,  all  in  their  turn, 
and  all  efforts  to  keep  the  lawns  tidy  are  unavail- 
ing, for  ten  minutes  after  they  are  swept  showers 
of  leaves  bestrew  them  again.  There  are  dead 
leaves  and  dead  leaves,  however,  some  being  full 
of  crisp  brightness  and  activity,  even  though  life 
has  gone  from  them,  whilst  others  look  dark,  dull, 
and  sodden  in  their  unlovely  decay.  The  large 
white-heart  cherry  covers  the  ground  with  beauti- 
ful golden  yellow.  The  beech  and  the  elm  set  the 
lawn  alive  with  crisp,  dancing  fairies,  which  skip, 
frisk,  and  circle  as  they  romp  all  over  its  surface. 
But  the  ash  and  the  walnut  foreshadow  dank 
desolation.  Their  leaves  lie  flat,  helpless,  and 
199 


heavy,  heaped  upon  one  another,  and  irresponsive 
to  the  kindly  breezes  which  vainly  seek  to  lure 
them  into  a  final  frolic.  The  walnut  leaves  pre- 
sent a  horrible,  black,  and  loathsome  spectacle, 
like  death  and  dissolution  in  their  ugliest  form. 

Still,  there  is,  or  should  be,  nothing  hopeless 
in  the  fall  of  the  leaves,  when  one  reflects  that  in 
detaching  themselves  from  the  twigs  they  are 
only  making  way  for  the  fresh  verdure  which  is 
to  follow  in  the  spring  and  the  swelling  of  whose 
buds  really  loosens  the  hold  of  the  old  leaves,  just 
as  the  new  generation  in  the  human  community 
forces  the  older,  worn  out,  and  less  adaptable 
members  into  the  background.  "  Nothing  per- 
ishes in  order  that  it  may  cease  to  exist,  but  so 
that  something  else  may  exist  in  its  stead." 

The  mildness  of  the  weather  seems  to  have  de- 
veloped the  leaf -buds  earlier  than  usual  and  these 
in  their  turn  have  forced  off  the  old  leaves.  In  the 
third  week  in  November  there  were  three  nights 
of  frost,  up  to  the  time  when  flowers  were  still  in 
fair  supply  in  the  garden.  There  were  antirrhinum, 
pinks,  dahlias,  roses,  violets,  chrysanthemums, 
some  anemones;  and  belated  pansies  and  larkspur. 
200 


falling 


The  last  roses  which  really  opened  their  petals 
were  picked  about  the  i5th,  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  "  Gloire  de  Dijon"  still  to  be  seen  on  the 
south  wall  of  the  house,  on  the  last  day  of  the 
month. 

The  cherry  and  walnut  shed  their  leaves  before 
the  mulberry,  which  did  not,  in  its  usual  way,  lead 
the  van. 

The  general  mild  temperature  and  moisture  of 
the  season  have  brought  up  the  early  Gladioluses, 
the  IxiaSj  and  the  Spanish  Irises,  all  of  which  I  am 
leaving  in  the  ground  to  face  the  winter  under 
the  protection  of  a  top-dressing  of  manure  and 
straw.  Some  of  the  laurels  and  rhododendrons 
have  thrown  out  new  leaves,  and  the  leaf -buds  of 
the  beech,  lilac,  and  honeysuckle  are  much  more 
advanced  than  they  ought  to  be.  The  hedges 
about  here  are  sprouting,  and  I  have  come  across 
several  patches  of  hawthorn  clothed  at  the  end 
of  November  with  fresh  green  as  in  early  spring. 
They  surely  must  have  mistaken  the  season,  like 
one  who  wakes  up  soon  after  he  has  fallen  asleep, 
thinking  the  dawn  is  approaching. 

Among  the  flowers  of  the  month  I  was  almost 
201 


forgetting  again  to  enumerate  the  one  I  am  most 
proud  of,  the  sweet-peas,  which  right  up  to  the 
frost  continued  their  grateful  supply  of  gay  and 
fragrant  flowers.  I  do  not  count  upon  being  able 
to  keep  them  so  late  again,  and  attribute  my  suc- 
cess this  year  to  the  constant  moisture  and  ab- 
sence of  strong  sun  throughout  the  summer.  They 
have  behaved  most  heroically,  for  I  consider  sus- 
tained effort  to  be  the  highest  form  of  heroism. 

How  often,  however,  is  real  heroism  misunder- 
stood and  disregarded,  while  its  less  solid  rela- 
tions, dash  and  pluck,  are  lauded  and  rewarded. 
There  is  often  greater  heroism  to  be  found  in  pri- 
vate life  than  on  the  battle-field.  If,  as  I  am 
afraid  sometimes  occurs,  a  brave  deed  is  done  with 
the  thought  of  self-glorification,  I  do  not  call  it 
heroic,  though  it  may  involve  pluck  in  a  high  de- 
gree, for  to  my  mind  heroism  is  above  all  self-sac- 
rifice and  thought  for  the  welfare  of  others,  and 
its  sublimest  height  is  reached  where  the  sacrifice 
is  made  not  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  at 
the  risk  of  life,  but  in  the  calm  certainty  of  death 
without  reward,  like  Jim  Bludso,  of  whom  Colo- 
nel John  Hay  said: 

202 


falling 


He  seen  his  duty,  a  dead-sure  thing, 
And  went  for  it  thar  and  then; 

And  Christ  ain't  agoing  to  be  too  hard 
On  a  man  that  died  for  men. 

The  truest  and  greatest  heroes  in  life  always 
seem  to  me  the  human  omnibus-horses  who  go 
about  their  hard,  toiling  work  day  after  day,  with 
all  the  energy  and  good-will  they  can  command, 
uncomplaining  and  unrewarded,  even  to  the  last, 
when  they  are  worn  out  and  the  end  comes. 

There  is  said  to  be  a  pretty  custom  in  Japan, 
and  I  hope  it  is  no  fiction,  that  every  year  a  selec- 
tion is  made  in  various  districts  of  the  girl  who 
has  most  distinguished  herself  in  the  practise  of 
homely  virtue  and  domestic  abnegation,  and  the 
unsuspecting  and  modest  heroine  is  then  honored 
and  requited. 

In  the  present  time  and  with  us,  self-advertise- 
ment is  the  prevailing  custom,  and  publicity  and 
notoriety-seeking  are  the  bane  of  the  age.  Ad- 
vertisement pervades  all  classes  and  all  localities. 
Neither  the  private  life  of  the  individual  nor  the 
sanctity  of  the  domestic  hearth  are  free  from  it. 
The  most  powerful  monarch,  the  most  prominent 
203 


statesman,  the  greatest  general,  the  most  eminent 
man  of  science  or  letters  are  as  dependent  for  their 
status  on  advertisement  as  are  soap,  pills,  beer, 
or  tobacco ;  and  when  the  scale  of  advertisement 
is  reduced,  a  falling  off  in  popular  estimation  takes 
place  in  all  cases  alike,  with  the  concomitant  loss 
of  influence  over  the  public  mind  and  pocket, 
an  influence  which  is  as  necessary  to  successful 
statesmanship  as  to  the  prosperity  of  commercial 
enterprise.  There  seems  to  be  less  and  less  pri- 
vate life,  no  repose,  no  "  recueillement."  Society 
papers  invade  the  sacred  seclusion  of  the  home 
and  lay  bare  to  the  public  gaze  every  confidential 
and  personal  detail  of  the  life,  actions,  and  occu- 
pations of  their  all  too  willing  victims,  who  are 
portrayed  in  every  conceivable  garb.  They  may 
be  seen  in  the  public  prints  in  their  houses,  in  their 
gardens,  and  in  their  private  studies  and  boudoirs ; 
they  may  be  seen  engaged  in  the  serious  avoca- 
tions of  life;  on  their  way  to  church,  performing 
acts  of  charity,  or  at  play.  They  may  be  seen 
reading,  writing,  shooting,  bicycling,  motoring, 
riding,  or  driving;  toying  with  their  dogs  and 
horses,  posed  in  graceful  attitudes  with  their 
204 


falling 


children,  carrying  out  scientific  demonstrations 
surrounded  by  physical  or  chemical  apparatus,  or 
executing  some  elaborate  work  of  art. 

It  may  serve  a  useful  purpose  to  advertise 
births,  deaths,  and  marriages;  but  the  publica- 
tion of  lists  of  guests  and  the  presents  each  one 
contributes  can  hardly  be  regarded  as  anything 
but  arch-snobbery. 

The  only  way  I  can  discern  to  fit  the  craze  for 
notoriety  and  advertisement  into  the  economy  of 
nature  is  to  regard  the  almost  fortuitous  living  of 
a  life  of  continuous  public  exposure,  less  to  one- 
self and  more  to  the  community,  as  a  kind  of 
necessary  training  of  the  individual  to  accustom 
himself  to  self-sacrifice  in  order  that  he  may  be- 
come the  more  fitted  to  act  his  part  in  the  promo- 
tion of  the  interests  and  welfare  of  the  race  as  a 
whole. 

Having  expressed  the  present  state  of  my  senti- 
ments on  advertisement,  I  will  return  to  the  gar- 
den. There  is  rather  a  dry  sandy  bed,  sheltered 
from  the  north  by  a  hedge,  in  which  nothing  has 
thriven  very  well.  I  have  prepared  the  soil  and 
have  planted  it  with  mixed  Irises,  which,  I  hope, 
205 


may  do  well  and  produce  a  succession  of  their 
lovely  flowers.  The  ones  I  have  put  in  are  /.  angli- 
ca,  florentina,  pumila,  alata,  ochroleuca,  pavonia  major, 
persica,  and  stylosa. 

The  temptation  became  so  strong  that  I  have 
been  unable  to  leave  the  Lilium  giganteum  undis- 
turbed. The  bulbs  and  roots  of  the  one  that  flow- 
ered look  healthy,  but  there  are  no  decided  off- 
sets strong  enough  for  separation.  One  of  those 
which  have  not  flowered  was  also  examined,  and 
as  the  bulb  seemed  fresh  and  vigorous  it  was  cov- 
ered up  again. 


206 


Yo  que  he  visto  mis  flores  marchitarse 

Al  soplo  abrasador  del  aquilon, 
Y  mis  suenos  de  dicha  evaporarse, 

Y  morir  en  mi  pecho  la  ilusidn. 

Torres  Caicedo. 

I  who  have  witnessed  my  flowers  fade  away 
At  the  burning  breath  of  the  cruel  storm, 

And  my  dreams  of  bliss  destroyed  in  a  day, 
And  illusions  torn  out  from  my  breast  still  warm. 


207 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   GARDEN   IN  WINTER 

HE  winter  has  really  come  at  length 
and  bud  and  bloom  are  finally 
checked  by  the  cold  north  wind.  As 
if,  however,  to  temper  the  withering 
breath  of  the  weather,  a  beautiful  soft  and  thick 
mantle  of  snow  has  been  thrown  over  the  earth, 
covering  undulation  and  plain,  tree  and  herb,  with 
its  fresh,  white  purity.  It  seems  to  me  impossible 
to  view  without  emotion  the  loveliness  of  the 
vegetation  upon  the  first  good  fall  of  snow,  and  I 
feel  thankful  that  in  our  country  it  never  lies  long 
enough  to  allow  this  feeling  to  become  habitual 
and  to  lose  the  freshness  and  force  with  which 
it  periodically  recurs. 

The  trees,  and  especially  the  great  elm,  are  once 

more  exhibiting  their  beautiful  tracery  upon  the 

sky,  and  the  famished  birds  again  approach  nearer 

to  the  house  in  the  hope  of  finding  something 

14  209 


more  than  the  berries,  which  are  the  only  food 
now  left  to  them.  Nor  shall  they  be  disappointed, 
for  besides  a  matutinal  meal  of  crumbs,  are  there 
not  a  number  of  warmth-producing  tallow  can- 
dles and  coconuts  waiting  in  readiness  to  be  hung 
up  in  the  trees  for  their  Christmas  delectation? 

There  are  virtually  no  more  flowers  but  the  yel- 
low jasmine,  and  yet  on  the  8th  of  December  I 
picked  a  good  bunch  of  belated,  half-open  rose- 
buds, which  look  quite  nice  and  refreshed  in  the 
warmth  of  the  house,  in  water. 

A  terrible  tragedy  occurred  in  the  first  days  of 
frost.  A  hungry  robin  forced  his  way  through 
the  meshes  of  the  garden  aviary  in  which  lives  a 
magpie  who  recently  lost  her  mate.  The  poor 
robin  in  his  search  for  food  little  thought  what 
a  dangerous  expedition  he  had  embarked  upon; 
but  the  result  of  his  rashness  was  that  he  was 
killed  and  eaten  by  his  host! 

The  elms  and  the  oaks  parted  with  their  leaves 
very  slowly  and  unwillingly,  in  the  same  way  that 
we  gradually  and  reluctantly  give  up  our  illusions 
and  as  the  winter  of  our  life  approaches  find  our- 
selves stripped  of  all  the  beautiful  fancy  foliage 
210 


<0art)en  in  Winter 


which  in  our  earlier  seasons  hung  about  us  and 
was  swayed  to  and  fro  by  every  breath  of  heaven, 
reflecting  each  ray  of  sunshine. 

Happily,  however,  the  illusions  which  were 
once  realities  and  objects  of  ardent  faith  still 
linger  in  our  bared  branches  in  the  glittering  frost 
of  poetry,  and  even  though  we  may  no  longer  be 
able  to  subscribe  to  the  articles  of  faith  or  to  ac- 
cept the  history  of  the  Jews  as  the  only  infallible 
and  sacred  guides  for  our  lives  and  conduct,  we 
can  still  look  upon  the  teachings  of  religion  as  the 
sublimest  of  all  poetic  conceptions  and  as  the 
most  elevating  power  for  good  over  the  imagina- 
tions of  the  human  mind. 

Is  it  possible  to  conceive  a  happier  state  than 
that  of  being  firmly  convinced  of  the  reality  of 
conditions  which,  although  undemonstrated  and 
imaginary,  transcend  the  best  and  most  delightful 
experiences  of  our  lives  ?  Can  any  belief  be  more 
blissful  and  consoling,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  ills 
we  are  heirs  to,  than  that  we  shall  live  again,  and 
forever,  as  ourselves,  preserving  conscious  indi- 
viduality, in  a  glorified  state,  among  surroundings 
of  perfect  harmony,  joy,  and  peace?  Can  any 
211 


promise  be  more  satisfactory  and  reassuring  than 
that  in  our  Father's  house  are  many  mansions 
and  that  we  shall  occupy  one  of  them?  And  can 
any  trust,  gratitude,  and  love  be  greater  than  that 
which  we  feel  as  children  for  the  supreme  wis- 
dom, power,  tenderness,  and  benevolence  of  a 
Father? 

Oh,  the  poetry  of  it  all  is  too  exquisite !  And 
truly  such  a  state  of  mind  with  its  beneficent  in- 
fluence must  be  worth  striving  for  as  the  acme 
of  all  that  is  desirable,  even,  perhaps,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  strictly  demonstrated  truth.  If  we  can 
instil  these  exalted  conceptions  and  bring  about 
their  acceptance  as  truth,  refining  in  life  and  com- 
forting in  death,  should  we  not  reverence  and 
support  the  great  organizations  which  have  un- 
dertaken the  performance  of  so  excellent  a  task? 
And  if  we  can  abstract  our  minds  from  the  ameni- 
ties and  troubles  of  life  into  a  higher  atmosphere 
of  delectable,  soothing  poetry,  as  many  of  us  can 
do  by  careful  and  persevering  training,  is  it  not 
worth  doing  in  order  to  attain  a  continuation  of 
the  happy  frame  of  mind  of  the  child  who  dwells 
in  an  entrancing  fairy  world? 
212 


d5arDett  in  Winter 


As  we  part  with  the  illusions  of  our  youth,  so 
also  do  some  of  us  find  that  we  let  go  the  illusions 
once  cherished  as  to  the  positive  foundation  of 
the  beliefs  and  dogmas  of  religion.  In  their  place, 
however,  we  may  have  gained  a  more  vivid  sense 
and  appreciation  of  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of 
its  poetry;  of  the  life  and  teachings  of  a  moralist 
like  Rabbi  Joshua,  etherealized  in  the  expositions 
of  the  church  which  is  founded  upon  his  benevo- 
lent altruism;  or  of  the  pure  pity  and  sympathy 
for  human  frailty  and  suffering  which  led  Sid- 
dharta  to  the  ascetic  life  and  self-denying  philoso- 
phy which  have  chastened  the  moral  standard  of 
countless  millions  of  human  beings  for  nearly 
twenty-five  centuries  past. 

A  poor  old  woman  who  came  to  me  a  long  time 
ago  in  her  distress  at  being  given  notice  to  quit 
her  humble  abode  in  default  of  the  rent,  expressed 
a  reflection  which  has  lived  in  my  mind  ever  since 
as  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  poetry  of  religion. 
"  We  are  all  tenants  at  will,"  she  said,  and  she 
found  consolation  in  this  universal  and  humble 
conception  before  the  Supreme  Author  of  all 
being. 

213 


There  is  to  me  no  poetry  so  elevating  and 
soothing  as  some  of  the  hymns,  and  I  class  in  the 
same  category  such  beautiful  compositions  as,  for 
instance,  the  anthem  written  by  Mr.  Benson  on 
our  late  lamented  Queen : 

She  hath  her  heart's  desire! 

She  hath  her  joy  I 
Joy  that  no  time  can  tire, 

No  care  destroy.    .    .    . 

And,  to  give  another  instance,  such  lines  as  were 
written  by  his  mother  to  the  late  Lord  Dufferin, 
with  the  presentation  of  a  lamp,  on  his  twenty- 
first  birthday: 

At  a  most  solemn  pause  we  stand, 

From  this  day  forth,  for  evermore, 
The  weak  but  loving  human  hand 

Must  cease  to  guide  thee  as  of  yore. 
Then,  as  thro*  life  thy  footsteps  stray 

And  earthly  beacons  dimly  shine, 
"  Let  there  be  light "  upon  thy  way 

And  holier  guidance  far  than  mine  I 
"Let  there  be  light"  in  thy  clear  soul, 

When  passion  tempts  and  doubts  assail 
When  grief's  dark  tempests  o'er  thee  roll, 

"Let  there  be  light"  that  shall  not  fail! 
214 


d&atflen  in 


So  Angel  guarded,  may'st  thou  tread 

The  narrow  path  which  few  may  find 
And  at  the  end  look  back,  nor  dread 

To  count  the  vanished  years  behind! 
And  pray  that  she,  whose  hand  doth  trace 

This  heart-warm  prayer — when  life  is  past — 
May  see  and  know  thy  blessed  face, 

In  God's  own  glorious  light  at  last. 

I  have  sometimes  questioned  to  myself  whether 
it  is  right  to  place  before  the  undeveloped  mind 
subject-matter  which  is  and  must  remain  un- 
demonstrated  and  unproved,  as  the  most  solemn 
facts  which  can  ever  be  presented  to  it,  and  I 
have  felt  that  a  heavy  responsibility  must  be  in- 
curred in  doing  so.  I  have  reflected  whether  it 
might  not  be  better  rather  to  train  the  mind  into 
an  appreciation  of  the  poetical  beauties  of  re- 
ligion, as  the  highest  ideal  and  the  goal  for  the 
purest  aspirations  of  the  most  refined  tempera- 
ments, and  as  such  to  be  held  always  before  us 
and  striven  for  with  all  the  earnestness  we  can 
command.  In  such  a  case  there  would  at  least 
be  no  room  for  the  revulsion  of  feeling,  loss 
of  restraint,  and  possible  despair  which  is  apt 
to  ensue  when  the  hitherto  revered  idols  are 
215 


broken   by   the  force   of   logical   and   scientific 
education. 

I  have  arrived  once  more  at  the  time  of  year 
when  I  began  to  pen  these  Mosaics.  Vegetation 
is  now  quiescent  and  we  must  await  the  glories  of 
new  life  in  the  spring.  I  will  end  the  contempla- 
tions into  which  I  have  been  led  with  a  hymn 
which  has  haunted  me  with  its  beautiful  con- 
ceptions for  many  years  past  and  which  returns 
to  my  thoughts  with  renewed  force,  as  time  goes 
on,  again  and  again.  It  was  given  to  me  by  an 
old  friend  who  knew  it  by  heart  and  told  me  it 
was  composed  by  Horace  Smith,  entitled: 

HYMN  TO  THE  FLOWERS 

Day  stars!  that  ope  your  frownless  eyes  to  twinkle 

From  rainbow  galaxies  of  earth's  creation, 
And  dewdrops  on  her  lonely  altars  sprinkle 
As  a  libation. 

Ye  matin  worshipers!  who  bending  lowly 

Before  the  uprisen  sun — God's  lidless  eye — 
Throw  from  your  chalices  a  sweet  and  holy 
Incense  on  high. 

2l6 


dffatflcn  in  l&intw 


Ye  bright  mosaics!  that  with  storied  beauty 

The  floors  of  Nature's  temple  tessellate, 
What  numerous  emblems  of  instructive  duty 
Your  forms  create  1 

'Neath  cloistered  boughs  each  floral  bell  that 

swingeth 

And  tolls  its  perfume  on  the  passing  air 
Makes  sabbath  in  the  fields  and  ever  ringeth 
A  call  to  prayer. 

Not  to  the  domes  where  crumbling  arch  and  column 

Attest  the  feebleness  of  mortal  hand, 
But  to  that  fane,  most  catholic  and  solemn, 
Which  God  hath  planned. 

To  that  cathedral,  boundless  as  our  wonder, 

Whose  quenchless  lamps  the  sun  and  moon  supply; 
Its  choir  the  winds  and  waves,  its  organ  thunder, 
Its  dome  the  sky. 

There  as  in  solitude  and  shade  I  wander 

Through  the  green  aisles,  or  stretched  upon  the  sod, 
Awed  by  the  silence,  reverently  ponder 
The  ways  of  God. 

Your  voiceless  lips,  O  flowers !  are  living  preachers, 

Each  cup  a  pulpit,  every  leaf  a  book, 
Supplying  to  my  fancy  numerous  teachers 
In  loneliest  nook. 
217 


Jttogaicg 


Floral  apostles!  that  in  dewy  splendor 

"Weep  without  woe  and  blush  without  a  crime," 
Oh,  may  I  deeply  learn  and  ne'er  surrender 
Your  love  sublime. 

Thou  wert  not,  Solomon,  in  all  thy  glory, 

Arrayed,  the  lilies  cry,  in  robes  like  ours. 
How  vain  your  grandeur  I    Ah  1  how  transitory 
Are  human  flowers ! 

In  the  sweet-scented  pictures,  heavenly  artist, 
With  which  Thou  paintedst  Nature's  wide-spread 

hall, 

What  a  delightful  lesson  Thou  impartedst 
Of  love  to  all. 

Not  useless  are  ye,  Flowers,  though  made  for 

pleasure, 

Blooming  o'er  field  and  wave,  by  day  and  night, 
From  every  source  your  sanction  bids  me  treasure 
Harmless  delight. 

Ephemeral  Sages !  What  instructors  hoary 

For  such  a  world  of  thought  could  furnish  scope, 
Each  fading  calyx  a  memento  mori 
And  ground  of  hope. 

Posthumous  Glories!  Angel-like  collection! 

Upraised  from  seed  or  bulb  interred  in  earth, 
Ye  are  to  me  a  type  of  resurrection 
And  second  birth. 
218 


dsartien  in  Winter 


Were  I  in  churchless  solitudes  remaining, 

Far  from  all  voice  of  teachers  and  divines, 
My  soul  would  find  in  flowers  of  God's  ordaining 
Priests,  sermons,  shrines. 


FINIS 


219 


Yd 


M9562 


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